


Dead Men Tell No Tales

by bippedya



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Gun Violence, Knives, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Other, Slow Burn, Will add tags as I update, they will likely be explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-06-08 05:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15235974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bippedya/pseuds/bippedya
Summary: “If no one is there to tell the story, then it’s stealthy,” Ryan offered, making his delivery as deadpan as possible.“That’s the one,” Jeremy said. “Geoff’s not gonna be happy about this, though, lemme tell you.”“Oh, well,” said Ryan. “He should’ve known what he was getting.”





	1. Duo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt the urge to write this after catching up on Battle Buddies and listening to Jeremy repeatedly laugh in joy after several of his kills. I'll see where it goes.

“I don’t do pairs, Geoff!” Ryan paced briskly across the length of the room, the rubber soles of his boots giving a hard  _squeak_ against the wood paneling every time he turned on his heel. “You know the only person who worked remotely well with me as a duo was- you know, and he was a fucking _sniper,_ completely out of my way. And now he’s gone.”

Geoff breathed out heavily through his nose and laced his fingers. “This isn’t up for debate, Ryan. The others are all busy, you’re good at killing shit, he’s good at killing shit, so, uh- you’re gonna kill shit. Together.”

Ryan inhaled deeply. “I work alone or with the crew,” he said sharply. “You know that’s what works.”

Geoff rolled his eyes. “Don’t try that intimidation shit with me, Ryan. Quit your whining and go talk to the guy. You get along just fine during regular heists. Now, go away. I gotta make some calls.” Ryan opened his mouth to retort, but snapped it shut again as Geoff dismissively waved his hand and turned towards the window, already speaking to someone else on the phone.

Ryan stormed out with a grumble, briefly considering slamming the door shut behind him. He ran his hand through his hair. At least he wasn’t paired with Gavin, or something. The guy was so clumsy on the field that he’d probably run into Ryan’s gun during a firefight. Just his luck, though, that the crew needed a hit that couldn’t be a solo mission. Logically, Ryan knew he needed someone to cover his back, no matter how much he wished he could get done with it by himself.

“Hey! Ryan, buddy! What’s up?”

Ryan snapped out of his reverie as the object of his thoughts strode down the hall towards him, hands tucked into the pockets of mustard yellow pajama pants. Speak of the devil. Ryan simply nodded in his direction before continuing on his way to the kitchen. He knew his long strides would outpace Jeremy, but the younger man jogged to catch up to him regardless.

“So, duo mission, huh? Excited to blow some heads off?” Jeremy tried at banter, falling silent as Ryan continued to walk. “Guess not. But hey, it’ll be over quick and easy, then you can get back to, uh, whatever you normally do,” Jeremy said, shrugging. Ryan leaned down to the mini fridge, scanning the rows of alcoholic beverages and… There. He pulled out a Diet Coke and cracked open the can, taking a long sip and dropping himself heavily onto the couch. Jeremy followed him like an eager puppy, though Ryan took note of some tenseness in his shoulders. Looked like the guy just didn’t want to give up, even if he was nervous.

“I know we don’t talk much besides on comms during missions, or when the rest of the guys are here, but, uh… If we’re gonna be partners, we should get to know each other, right?” Jeremy shifted in his seat, posture a bit too straight, smile not quite easy enough. “I know I’m still pretty new compared to the rest of you guys, so…” Jeremy trailed off.

“Yeah.”

Jeremy’s head jerked up, and he stared at Ryan.

“What?” said Jeremy, clearly surprised that he got a response. Ryan leaned back into the cushion, relaxing his shoulders. He had to give the guy points for effort. Not many stuck to attempting to chat up the Vagabond for long. Not many outside work tried in the first place.

“We could,” Ryan started, clearing his throat. Man, he really should talk more instead of keeping up the persona. Besides, it wasn’t like Jeremy hadn’t seen him in casual circumstances before. The rest of the crew made sure of that on game nights. “We could get to know each other better.” Ryan took another long drink of his Diet Coke, downing the soda to one third of its volume already. Damn it. The kid had a point, though. If they had to do this partnership, or whatever he wanted to call it, awkwardness would not do.

Jeremy blinked for two seconds, before his face broke into a more sincere smile. Ryan was tempted to smile back. “That’s the spirit, pal.” Jeremy tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I mean, we could just do small talk, but I’m pr-e-e-etty sure that’s not your style. How about some rounds of PUBG?”

“Sure, why not?”

-

“Got ‘em!” Jeremy whooped, loosened up by laughter and alcohol. “Though we kinda disregarded being stealthy.”

“If no one is there to tell the story, then it’s stealthy,” Ryan remarked drily, prompting a loud laugh from Jeremy. Ryan chuckled to himself, before diving to the right on the couch to mirror his action in game. “Watch out!”

“Five left, Ryan! We got this!” Jeremy shouted. “Northwest! He’s down!”

“Two!”

“One- hrgk- Jeremy! You shot me!”

“Whoops!” Jeremy laughed, his character running over Ryan’s. He took the last player out, and  _WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER_ flashed across both Ryan and Jeremy’s screens.

A millisecond passed.

“What was that for?” Ryan exclaimed, his voice pitched higher than usual in mock anger. “You got me at the end!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t see!” said Jeremy, raising his hands in the air. “It doesn’t matter; we won!”

Ryan dragged a hand down his face, masking his broad smile. He was honestly surprised at how quickly Jeremy clicked with him, seemingly completely disregarding the fact that he was by himself with a notorious criminal, one of the most wanted men in Los Santos. It was nice, for a change, to be with someone relatively new who wasn’t cowering next to him. He supposed that was because Jeremy slotted in easily with the rest of the crew, who had no qualms about poking fun at the infamous Vagabond. Maybe it had rubbed off on him, or Jeremy was just stupidly courageous.

“Alright,” Ryan said, clapping his hands down on his knees. “We gotta get ready to leave. Quick and easy, in and out.”

“That’s what she said,” Jeremy muttered under his breath. Ryan pretended not to hear him.

The two headed down to the storeroom, gearing up with practiced maneuvers. Ryan peeked into a nearby mirror, smearing on a crude skull of face paint before pulling his mask on. Jeremy glanced over his shoulder, expression schooled into something more serious despite the purple and orange striped belt strapped across his waist. Ryan sighed. Covert, his ass.

The night outside was dim; whatever moonlight that would normally light the streets was obscured by clouds and a smoky, polluted sky. Ryan climbed on his motorcycle, beckoning Jeremy to follow. Jeremy scooted up behind him and leaned into his back, wrapping his arms around Ryan. Jeremy’s body was solid and warm, Ryan noted momentarily, then shook the thought from his mind. Irrelevant. He revved up the bike and shot into the night, biting wind whipping at his clothes.

The ride was silent, leaving Ryan to his thoughts for several minutes. He still would have preferred to work alone; being friendly with Jeremy was one thing, but cooperation on the field was another. At least with the whole crew, there were more people to cover for mistakes. With just two, they only had each other to rely on, and Ryan wasn’t sure he could handle that sort of responsibility. Besides his style being rather… aggressive, the last time he had worked in a duo, his partner was far away, stationed on some distant roof. Not right next to him, coordinating with his movements and getting personal with their foes.

The bike slowed down near the corner of the gated house, coming to a stop with a quiet screech of rubber on pavement. Ryan hopped down and glanced at Jeremy, whose face was mostly concealed by the shadows of the night. Ryan could make out a glint of determination in his eyes, however, as he led the way towards the fence and easily vaulted himself over it. Ryan raised his eyebrows under his mask. Acrobatic. He followed, albeit more slowly.

Jeremy raised his hand, then turned his head with a cheeky grin. He gave a thumbs up and raised his weapon.

A guard dropped outside the door, landing with a heavy thud, blood pooling from his head. The second guard raised his weapon and opened his mouth, perhaps to yell, but he didn’t get that far. Ryan aimed, fired, and let him join his buddy on the ground.

“So far, so good,” said Jeremy. “Wonder if we can keep up this stealth thing.” He walked to the door, sparing a glance at the disabled cameras at the entrance. Looked like the B-Team had done their job, at least. Jeremy paused at the door awkwardly. “Uh. One sec. Matt?”

Ryan heard a faint crackle in his earpiece, followed by an annoyed sigh. “Come on, man, you know I’m helping the others. Code is 24601. Try to remember the briefing next time, okay?” Jeremy grinned and punched in the numbers.

“Thanks, buddy.”

“No problem. See ya,” Matt said, abruptly disappearing from the communications.

“ _Les Miserables_ , huh,” Ryan murmured under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

Jeremy pushed open the door and stepped tentatively inside, with Ryan to his left, scanning the area for guards.

“There!” Ryan hissed, and took aim at the guard at the top of the stairs. He pulled the trigger quickly, watching with satisfaction as they dropped.

“Uh, Ryan-” Jeremy said, tensing up. Footsteps echoed loud in Ryan’s ears as he pieced together what was happening. Someone saw. Someone was running.

Then there was shouting and bustling, the lights flicked on, and Ryan’s inhibitions went out the window. Without a word, he opened fire on the guards coming in through multiple doors, dragging Jeremy with him behind a counter. Jeremy gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, peeking over the counter and taking several shots at the intruders, most landing with cries of pain from his victims. “So much for stealth.”

With the area clear for the moment, Jeremy sprinted from behind the counter, advancing on the stairs. “Come on!” he shouted. “They’re going to evac the target. We gotta hurry.”

Ryan nodded quickly, following his partner up the stairs. It appeared stealth wasn’t exactly their strong suit, whether in a game or in real life. Jeremy smashed the butt of his gun into the skull of an adversary in the doorway, and Ryan provided covering fire across the hall. Jeremy kicked open the door of their target, and it cracked open with a satisfying splintering of wood.

Ryan felt a grin creeping up on him under his mask, and he resisted the urge to laugh. The adrenaline of combat, the thrill of having the power to decide life and death- it never lost its joy, he thought as he shot down his next target. He felt a tingle down his spine, turning around just in time to see a guard falling to the floor behind him.

Jeremy’s gleeful laugh erupted from Ryan’s other side, apparently delighting in his most recent kill. “Did you see that?” he laughed. “That guy just got bipp-”

Ryan flicked his wrist, and his knife embedded itself in the neck of the man in the doorway behind Jeremy.

“Bipped?” offered Ryan, and chuckled.

The two fell into an easy rhythm of attacking and defending, watching each others’ backs, and  _damn_ , Ryan felt alive. It was almost too easy, honestly; Ryan had expected a frustrating mission, not _fun_. Sweat glistened on Jeremy’s brow, his eyes excited, and he took aim at their final target. The man scrambled against the wall and cowered in fear, belatedly raising his arms in the air.

“Please,” he begged, a tremble in his voice. “What do you want-- I can give you anything, just don’t-”

Ryan lunged forward and embedded his knife in the man’s throat. He drank in the expression: wide eyed, mouth agape like a fish, blood running down his neck. Jeremy was delighted, laughing again, and Ryan laughed as well. Man, they did have a lot in common. Maybe Geoff was right sometimes.

They stood in the empty house for a few seconds.

“What was that thing you said earlier?” Jeremy asked abruptly. “About stealth, uh--”

“If no one is there to tell the story, then it’s stealthy,” Ryan offered, making his delivery as deadpan as possible.

“That’s the one,” Jeremy said. “Geoff’s not gonna be happy about this, though, lemme tell you.”

“Oh, well,” said Ryan. “He should’ve known what he was getting.”

Jeremy examined his stained clothes as the pair made for their escape before the inevitable arrival of the LSPD. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might be sporadic until I get a feel for where I want to go in this. Thanks for reading!


	2. Cereal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lads discover the real reason that Ryan's an absolute nutjob, and it isn't all the murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First bit is NSFW, the rest isn't. Enjoy!

The feeling kept needling at the back of Jeremy’s mind, like an earworm song or an itch that he just couldn’t seem to scratch. He rolled onto his stomach and bunched his pillow in his arms, thinking. The burst of adrenaline he felt when Ryan threw the knife right past him. The peals of laughter he could hear during the firefight. The thrill of the moment and the baffling ease of combat with Ryan.

Jeremy was familiar with the excitement of the crew by now. Sure, he was new to the main group, but within a few months he had already found his place. He loved the feeling of danger and success, and he considered that he would have been an adrenaline junkie whether he found himself in this profession or not.

So that was why he was aroused right now. There was nothing to be confused about, nor any stray attraction. The reasoning was all there. He was a guy, he got excited, and his body responded by itself. That was all.

Jeremy groaned into his pillow, his wandering thoughts and doubts fading as he palmed himself through his boxers. He’d take care of himself tonight, wake up tomorrow, and move on with work like always. Jeremy propped himself up on his elbows and slid his boxers down, biting his lip as he wrapped his hand around his cock, sensation sparking up his body. Really, he didn’t know why he was overthinking this in the first place.

He slid his hand down roughly and in quick, jerky movements. What he was feeling didn’t have anything to do with the low, rumbling chuckles from earlier today, or the natural power in the Vagabond’s movements. Jeremy bit back a groan and leaned into his pillow. His left hand gripped the pillowcase, and Jeremy spread his knees to give himself more room. No, it didn’t have anything to do with seeing the gun in Ryan’s hands, only inches away from him; of course it didn’t, he’d seen that a thousand times. _But not so close_ , Jeremy’s brain reminded him, and he shut out the thought again in favor of pushing his hips forward into his hand, seeking more friction.

Pleasure coiled in Jeremy’s gut as he jerked himself off, movements becoming sloppier as he approached orgasm. He buried his face in his beddings, having just enough forethought to quickly pull a tissue from his bedside table. His hand stilled on his dick, hips trembling as he came. His mind was gone, basking in the waves of pleasure and completion. He balled up the tissue and threw it in the trash, momentarily congratulating himself for making the shot.

He pulled up his boxers and dropped back onto his bed. As his mind cleared and the first waves of doubt and shame began to float into his mind, Jeremy promptly fell asleep.

-

“So you guys,” Michael snickered, “just killed everyone there? So you’d be fuckin stealthy, or something?”

“We were stealthy!” Ryan protested, pouring entirely too much sugary cereal into his bowl. “Nobody saw!”

“Nobody saw because they were all dead, dipshit!” shouted Michael, doubling over again in laughter. “Didn’t Geoff say to just kill the one guy, and only whoever else was necessary?”

“I thought they were pretty necessary,” inserted Jeremy. He took a bite out of his breakfast burrito, leaning back into the couch cushions and flicking through channels on the TV, eventually settling for a rerun of a wrestling match.

“I told you, Michael! They’re bloody nutjobs, the two of ‘em,” said Gavin, gesturing at Ryan. “I mean, who puts in the milk first?”

“You WHAT?” exclaimed Michael and Jeremy, heads snapping to Ryan, who was indeed pouring more cereal into his bowl, on top of milk. Ryan promptly flipped Gavin off and stopped pouring, apparently deciding that the mountain of sugary oats in his bowl was enough.

“It’s more efficient,” said Ryan, settling onto a barstool. “Instead of having soupy cereal, you can decide how much cereal you want so that the milk is a bonus!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” shouted Michael, and the squabbling resumed. Jeremy grinned as he watched the debacle. The dreaded, terrifying Vagabond gesticulated wildly with his spoon, strands of tousled hair only held back by a cheap headband that he refused to throw away. Gavin spluttered from his end of the counter, explaining that _no_ , it would be easier to pour in the cereal first to get the right cereal-to-milk ratio. He was hit upside the head by Michael.

“Ratio whatever! You pour in the cereal first because you’re a human being, not a fucking animal!”

“But Michael, Ryan does have a point-” Gavin tried, quickly drowned out by Ryan and Michael shouting again.

“So now you’re on my side!” Ryan said. “But you’ve got it wrong!”

Jeremy stood up, his burrito in hand and his mouth still half full. “Okay, listen! Let’s just come to a compromise.” He paused. “So, Ryan and Gavin are full of shit and Michael’s right.”

Michael jumped to his feet to high five Jeremy. “Attaboy, Lil J!”

Right as the argument was about to erupt again, Jack strode into the room, hands up. “Okay, girls, whatever you’re arguing about, all of you are very pretty.” She twirled a keyring in her finger and leaned against the counter.

“Oh!” Gavin said, abruptly dropping the cereal argument. “Are we going somewhere, Jack?”

“Well,” she started, pleased at the effect her presence had on the room. “Geoff decided that after a series of… _successful_ missions last night…” Ryan and Jeremy shifted their gaze towards the undoubtedly riveting wrestling match on TV.

“It was successful,” muttered Ryan under his breath.

“We wanted to go to the carnival to blow off some steam,” Jack concluded. Michael cheered.

“We should do a competition!” Gavin said, prompting a chorus of groans from the others in the room. “No, hear me out- we’ll split into pairs, and whoever wins the most prizes wins, uhh- hundred bucks from everyone else?”

“Fuck that,” Michael said. “We got a shitload of money last night.”

“How about winner decides outfits on the next heist?” Jeremy suggested. “We haven’t done that in a while.”

“So stupid,” Jack laughed. “I’m in.” With good-natured groans and nods of assent, the prize was decided. “So, what about teams?”

“Michael!” Gavin squawked, reaching out his arms towards Michael.

“Come on! Again?” Michael complained, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he wrapped an arm around Gavin. “Goddammit.”

“I’m with Geoff,” Jack announced. “So, Jeremy and Ryan? The, uh… combat guys.”

“We’re buddies!” Jeremy said, trying to mask the eagerness in his voice. He didn’t even have to volunteer for it. “Battle buddies.” Ryan raised his eyebrow.

“Since when are we the battle buddies?”

“Since now, Ryan! We’re gonna kick their asses.”

Jack rubbed her hands together. “Okay, battle buddies it is! Now, if you don’t mind me, I’m going to go wake Geoff up so we can get this started. And Jeremy, please don’t wear that outside.”

Jeremy looked down at his favorite pair of yellow pajama pants and his tie-dyed purple and orange shirt. He had thrown them on after climbing out of bed in just his boxers. “Fine, fine. But you just _wait_ until heist time.” Ryan snickered, and Jeremy tried to ignore the embarrassing tingle that went up his neck.

“Let’s win this thing, Ryan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> despite all their rage they are still a slice of life in a cage  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Strongman

It was a muggy day. The late summer sun beat down on Ryan’s neck, and he shuffled backwards into the shade, watching Jeremy stand on his tiptoes outside a raised food truck. Ryan’s mindlessly captured the details of his environment, gaze slowing down as his eyes roamed over Jeremy’s back, wide shoulders and developed biceps more apparent than usual in the tight tanktop. Ryan blinked, snapping himself out of it. The rickety cart of an old rollercoaster roared behind him, and he took a swig of soda.

“That’ll be three dollars, sir,” droned the teenager behind the counter. “Thanks, enjoy your day.”

Jeremy gleefully accepted the cotton candy and bounded back to Ryan, who eyed his treats with amusement.

“Isn’t that a bit obvious?” he asked, nodding his head at the two plastic bags Jeremy was holding, each filled with fluffy cotton candy.

“Nah, man, it’s not weird at all. The colors look good together. You want one?” Jeremy extended both bags to Ryan, who hesitated before grabbing the purple cotton candy. Jeremy wasted no time in ripping the twist tie off of his own bag, grabbing a handful of orange and stuffing it into his mouth. He scrunched up his face.

“Ugh, that’s so sweet,” he complained, absently trailing behind Ryan. “Worth it for the colors, though.”

“You don’t like sweets?” asked Ryan, scouting the area for a game they hadn’t played yet.

“Eh,” Jeremy shrugged. “They’re okay. I’m more into the savory shit, though. I’m a meat guy.”

Ryan distantly heard a distinct squawk and yell of frustration, and he turned his head to see Jeremy grinning ear to ear.

“Sounds like those two aren’t doing well,” said Jeremy. “Hey, let’s do this one for our last one.” He stopped in front of a strongman game with a clearly bored attendant standing by. Noticing the pair, the attendant forcibly perked up.

“Step right up! Want to test your strength? Halfway wins you a small prize, three quarters medium, and you can get a jumbo prize if you get it to the top! It’s a dollar per try.”

“Aw man, jumbo?” Jeremy whispered dramatically.

“All you,” Ryan said, stepping back and gesturing towards the tower. He fished a crumpled dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the attendant. Jeremy dropped his backpack, rolled his shoulders, and grinned, accepting the mallet from the employee and weighing it in his hands.

“I can hit this as hard as I can?” Jeremy asked, curling his fingers around the grip.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Hard as you can,” she replied absent-mindedly.

“Alrighty, then,” Jeremy said, and Ryan watched as the absolute _madman_ took several steps back, winded himself up, dashed forward, and fucking _jumped_ before swinging the hammer down, hard. The puck shot up, but that wasn’t close to what captured Ryan’s attention, nor was the the resounding _ding_ of the puck hitting the bell. No, what caught Ryan’s attention was the thundering crack, a sound that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen, of… was that plastic? Jeremy dropped the mallet and clapped his hands over his mouth, shooting Ryan a look that said _help me_.

“Ooh,” Ryan hissed out in sympathy, peeking at the attendant, who stared at the cracked base of the game, then at Jeremy, apparently dumbfounded. She stood there for a second longer before bursting out into laughter.

“Oh, oh, congratulations! Wow, thanks for making my day. That’s the best thing I’ve seen at this place,” she wheezed, ignoring the ruined game and turning into the small tent, extracting a Jeremy-sized inflatable cow. “Here you go. Are you an athlete?”

Jeremy smiled sheepishly, face flushed. “Uh, I just work out, but thanks.” He struggled to hold the cow without letting it drop, opting to give it a full body hug around its middle before waddling off. Ryan laughed, picked up Jeremy’s backpack, and raised his hand to the employee as they made their way off. “Have a good one.”

Jeremy struggled with the inflatable cow for several more yards before dropping himself down on a bench. He let go of the toy, letting it sag onto the ground pathetically. Jeremy leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, groaning comically.

“She said to hit it as hard as I could!” he griped. “God, that was embarrassing.”

“She seemed to find it funny. What I’m curious about was that jump. You leaped like a fuckin’ ru- bru- bunny rabbit!” Ryan fumbled. “What was that about? You did that at work, too.”

“Huh? Oh.” Jeremy sat back on the bench and gingerly poked the cow with his shoe. “I used to be a gymnast. So I’m all uh, limber and shit. Kind of.”

“Yeah, _kind of_ ,” Ryan repeated.

“Mother _fucker_!” a voice exclaimed behind the two, and Ryan whipped his head around to see Geoff standing in the grass behind him, clutching a large plastic bag and tugging Jack along by the hand. “You motherfuckers got a whole cow? How?”

“Jeremy broke the strongman machine,” Ryan said nonchalantly, earning a giggle from Jeremy.

Jack sidled up beside Geoff, a sock monkey tied around her neck and a rubber ducky in her fist. “I thought those things were rigged.”

Jeremy snorted. “Apparently if you hit it hard enough, they aren’t.” The rubber duck squeaked pitifully in Jack’s hand. Geoff scowled, and Jack wrapped her arm around him reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, Geoff, we’re definitely beating the other idiots,” she soothed.

“How do we decide points, anyway? We have a lot of stuff,” Geoff said. He pulled open the bag and picked out a balloon sword, several stuffed animals, some pencils, and a bag of gumballs. “Including what Jack’s holding, we have twelve. Maybe we’re the real winners here.”

“Hmmmmm… No, we’re winning. We also have twelve, but our last one is way better than yours,” Ryan decided, pulling similar items out of Jeremy’s backpack.

“What the FUCK?” Michael’s voice rung out, and he stormed up to the rest of the crew and the inflatable cow. He was clutching two teddy bears in his left hand by their legs, held two bags of candy in his right hand, and had a toy stuffed snake around his neck. Geoff winced. “GAVIN!”

Gavin hung back, face comically guilty. “What, Michael?”

“Don’t _oh, wot Micool_ me! Look at this shit!” Michael yelled, dropping his candy unceremoniously on the pavement. Gavin was pulled over with a yelp, and he let out a low whistle when he came to a stop, eyeing the prizes from the other duos and nudging the inflatable cow with his foot.

Jeremy looked back and forth between Michael and Gavin, furrowing his brow. Gavin appeared empty-handed. “Have you guys… Have you not won anything else?”

Michael rolled his eyes and snorted, nudging Gavin with his shoulder. “No, we have one more thing. Show them, Gav. Show them what you did!” Gavin guiltily shoved his hand in his pocket and extracted… a pink glitter pen. Geoff’s eyes widened slowly, and he started giggling, then cackling, and Jack spluttered out laughs, her face reddening.

“A fuckin- pen! We were going to win something like this-” Michael gestured at the balloon cow. “And then the game guy was like, ‘You can win a second one if you make one more shot, but if you lose then you’ll lose the prize you already won’ and it was one of those glass bottle hoop things, so before I can do anything Mr. Fucking Genius Gavin over here steps up, flings the damn thing, _misses_ , and the guy felt so sorry for us he gave us a shitty pen as a consolation prize!”

“I made all of them before that one!” Gavin protested.

“But none of it mattered, dumbass! You ruined us!”

“They have more than us! We would’ve lost anyway, but we would’ve had a chance if we had _two_ jumbo prizes!”

“We still lost, idiot! It doesn’t matter!”

Jeremy crowed and clapped his hands, leaning to the side and letting his weight drop onto Ryan, who laughed quietly to himself.

“Damn, I didn’t know carnivals started hiring casino owners to handle these games,” said Ryan. “Sounds like you two got played.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Michael grumbled. “At this point, I’m fine rimmin’ up my outfit if it means I don’t have to work together with Gavin anymore.”

“Michael!” Gavin gasped. “That’s so rude!”

“ _What?_ ” Geoff yelled, startling a family walking past the group. “Jack and I won just as many prizes!”

“Yeah, but look at the _s_ _ize_ of theirs,” Michael said. “You gotta give it to them.”

“Bullshit,” Geoff grumbled, and Jack rubbed his arm.

“Okay, how about this,” Jeremy said. “Jack and Geoff, since you _almost_ won, you can wear whatever you want as long as it’s following the general theme. Michael and Gavin have to wear exactly what we say.” Ryan nodded sagely.

“I’m never teaming up with you again,” Michael deadpanned to Gavin. “Whatever. I’m not the golden fashion guy, anyway. I think Gavvy’s the real loser here.”

Ryan grinned as the group dissolved into squabbling- “But it was _my_ idea, and I should make the rules! I can say this isn’t how the game works!” “Group vote, Gavin, fuck you.” “Yeah, you can’t make up rules after you lose. Fuck you, Gavin.” - and propped his feet up on the cow prize. He crumpled up his now-empty plastic bag and reached over to grab Jeremy’s cotton candy, which was still half full. What could he say, Ryan had a sweet tooth. He watched contentedly as Jeremy argued and laughed, pointing fingers and flipping Gavin off. His gaze drifted to Gavin, being chased around by Michael, and to Jack, who was squeaking her rubber duck mockingly every time Gavin squawked, and to Geoff--

Who had a small red dot trained on his temple, flickering briefly when Gavin and Michael ran past him again. A chill ran down Ryan’s spine.

“Get down!” Ryan shouted, and the others didn’t react quickly enough. Time seemed to slow down, Jack’s eyebrows drawing together in confusion and concern, Gavin and Michael’s chase petering off, and Jeremy spinning in his seat to find any threat, hands tensed and ready to fight. Ryan sprang off the bench and crashed into Geoff from above, knocking him to the ground.

Searing, red-hot pain pierced Ryan’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to write the next chapter. Thanks for reading!


	4. Whodunnit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming in hot with the 2013 AH references

Now everything seemed to be happening too fast. Besides the excruciating pain, Ryan’s senses were bombarded by a maelstrom of sound, partially muffled through the blood rushing in his ears. Footsteps were too loud, he could hear cursing and a shout of “Someone shot him!”, and his heart pounded in his chest as if it were fighting to leap out. A hand grabbed his good arm and pulled him roughly to his feet, and he ran with them automatically, self preservation having become habit. He blinked several times and his surroundings came into sharper view, adrenaline pulling the pain away from his injury and pumping energy into the rest of his body. Ryan followed Jeremy as he rounded around the corner of a vending machine, ducking behind it and joining Jack and Geoff. Panic spread among the carnival goers, more running in every direction when they realized something was seriously wrong.

“Lindsay, carnival- get Gavin and Michael out of there, now!” Geoff shouted into his phone. Jack clutched her keys and peeked at the commotion from the other side of the vending machine.

“Guys, stay put and I’ll pick you up. Five minutes,” she said, breaking away from the group in a sprint.

“Shit, shit, fuck!” Jeremy cursed, scanning his surroundings. He turned his attention to Ryan, who clutched at his wound, shirt damp with blood. Without a second thought Jeremy yanked off his own tanktop, exposing broad shoulders and a bare chest, and  _ of course _ Ryan had to make a comment.

“Whoa there, save it for the bedr-”

“Goddammit, shut up!” Jeremy yelled, swatting Ryan’s hand away from his shoulder and pressing the fabric against the bullet wound. Ryan winced but got the idea immediately, reaching up to hold the cloth in place and applying as much pressure as he could stand. He watched in morbid curiosity as the grey shirt darkened in color from the blood. He grit his teeth.

“Where- where are the other two?” Ryan asked.

“They’re after the sniper,” Geoff replied. “Both of them are armed, and neither of them were the target. They’re our best bet at catching the fucker, and we needed a distraction to get us outta there.”

“What if we’re followed?”

“We won’t be,” Geoff said confidently. “Matt and Andy have an eye on the whole location right now. We’re going to safehouses first before everyone meets up, too. And, uh- thanks for uh, saving my life, Ryan.”

Ryan tried to grin, but it came out as more of a grimace. He felt liquid begin to seep through his fingers again, and the world spun a little. Blood loss. “Any time, boss.”

Jeremy’s body was wired, his fists clenched tightly at his sides and his teeth nervously tugging at his lower lip. That was strange. Ryan was sure the other man had been in unexpected encounters before, and he had undoubtedly witnessed other crew members injured. Maybe he was shaken that Geoff had almost died. The idea of the Kingpin being so vulnerable and so easily dispatched was certainly frightening. Jeremy caught Ryan staring at him.

“You gonna be okay, buddy?” he asked, reaching up to clap his hand on Ryan’s uninjured shoulder.

“M’fine,” Ryan muttered. Wow, Jeremy was solid. His eyes trailed down the patch of hair between Jeremy’s chest, following it down, down, past his belly button- surprisingly pudgy, and- Ryan’s vision blurred, and he blinked twice. “Uh. Losing blood, though.”

Ryan thought he saw that expression of dread flicker over Jeremy’s features once again, but the thought was shortly interrupted by the screech of tires on pavement and the smell of exhaust.

“Jack!” Geoff said, looking over his shoulder once more before climbing into the passenger seat.

“Sir!” Jack replied curtly. Jeremy grabbed Ryan’s arm and slung it over his shoulder, hastily pulling him towards the car.

“We’re going to Gavin’s shitty safehouse- the basement level one,” said Geoff. Jack nodded and the car shot off. Andy’s voice crackled in over the car radio, occasionally instructing Jack on detours to take. Ryan felt faint.

“Geoff, he’s losing a lot of blood,” Jeremy said worriedly. He glanced down to see Jeremy reapply pressure to the tanktop that had been slipping from Ryan’s grip. “Is the safehouse stocked?”

“Should be,” Geoff said. “Steffie restocks them every month. Unless Ryan’s been secretly visiting and drinking donor blood from the fridge like a freak, he should be fine.”

Ryan managed a weak laugh at Geoff’s joke, leaning his head against the headrest and staring at the blurred image of passing cars and buildings.

“I’ve had worse,” he drawled, the pain throbbing through his body feeling distant and muted. 

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Tough Guy Vagabond, just sit tight and we’re gonna get your ass to…”

Ryan’s vision faded at the corners, and he was out like a light.

-

The first thing Ryan was aware of was the dryness in his mouth and a dull, pounding headache. The second thing he noticed was that he was in a terribly uncomfortable mattress, and that there was a constant, aching pain in his shoulder that worsened when he moved even slightly. The third thing he noticed were the agitated voices somewhere to his right.

“I don’t want to believe it either, but what other goddamn sniper knows my face?” Geoff.

“Didn’t he move up north? And he cut all ties just in case, right?” Jeremy.

“Yeah, but either way… we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. We just have to lay low for now and get word from the others. We’ll figure it out when we’re all together.” Jack.

Ryan cracked his eyes open a slit and saw Geoff sitting with his head in his hands. 

“Why did we let him go. I was fucking  _ stupid _ and  _ trusting _ and thought, oh man, one of our guys is leaving to pursue his own destiny! No way he’ll ever betray us! What kind of dumbass gang boss does that?” Geoff brought his fist down on his own thigh.

“Ray wouldn’t…” Jack trailed off. Jeremy stayed silent.

Ah. So that’s who they were talking about.

“I don’t know what he would do anymore! We’ve managed to keep our identities secret for  _ years _ , Jack! Then, months after letting him go, I get a hit on me and almost get my brains blasted. What the fuck else am I supposed to believe? Someone just had a really lucky guess?” Geoff laughed bitterly.

Ryan cleared his throat and blinked, taking in his surroundings. The conversation halted. Dingy walls, low lighting, a fridge, and a blanket adorned with the Union Jack. Despite himself, he heard Gavin’s voice echoing in his head, saying  _ “My secret room!”  _ Ryan propped himself up on his elbows and forced himself into a sitting position, ignoring the revived pain. He gingerly placed his hand on the pressure bandage planted on his wound.

“Um. For what it’s worth, Ray wouldn’t have hesitated that long,” Ryan said, trying to keep his voice as casual as it could be for a guy who passed out from blood loss. He noticed a relieved grin spread across Jeremy’s face.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, champ,” Jack said. “Lucky for you that there wasn’t any extra trouble to clean and bandage that thing. No fighting for a while, though.” Ryan made a face and turned to Geoff, whose lips were pursed.

“Were you listening to us this whole time and just pretending to be asleep?” Geoff accused.

“Um. Not… intentionally?” Ryan tried.

“What did you mean?” Geoff said. “About Ray.”

Ryan rolled his neck and exhaled. “Well, you learn a thing or two after being mission partners with the guy for years.” In his periphery, Ryan saw Jeremy stare resolutely at the carpet. “If there’s one thing Ray was when it came to work, he was sure. Today, whoever aimed at Geoff hesitated for a  _ long _ time. I honestly shouldn’t have had the time to intercept the bullet.”

Jack frowned. “But that would just suggest that it  _ was _ Ray. He could’ve taken longer because it would be harder for him to want to kill Geoff. Personal thing.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, if Ray really sold out and took a job to kill Geoff, he wouldn’t be hesitating at the very last minute. It can’t have been him. He said he was done with the crew, and he  _ meant _ it.”

“I… think Ryan’s right,” Jeremy said carefully. “I was never on the main squad with him. I was part of the B-Team while he was still active. But… The guy really didn’t hesitate on his marks. That was one of the reasons the Brownman got a reputation as the deadliest sniper in Los Santos. If he had even a split second of a clear shot, he took it. Honestly, it made me feel pretty irrelevant. I’d just tell him what his objective was and he’d do it.”

“That still doesn’t explain how they found us and knew Geoff’s face,” said Jack. “Sorry to be a downer, but whoever had it in for Geoff has to have worked with us at some point.”

The words spilled out of Ryan’s mouth as soon as the thought came to his mind. “It could’ve been one of us. We’ve expanded recently, and the new guys…” He stopped talking when he caught Jeremy’s expression. The man looked uncharacteristically distraught, his nails digging into his palms. Jack and Geoff glanced at him, then back at Ryan. Ryan felt like he’d been shot a second time when he realized what he had thoughtlessly implied. Even though he knew what  he was saying made sense, just seeing Jeremy’s face felt like ice in his stomach.

“Fuck, sorry Jeremy,” said Ryan. “I-”

“No, you’re right,” Jeremy said dejectedly. “If it’s not Ray, then it’s probably one of us. And it’s sure as hell not you three, or Michael, Gavin, even Lindsay-” 

“Shit. Fu-uck,” Geoff groaned. “You know I love you guys; I don’t want us to be at each other’s throats.”

Jack didn’t speak, but her eyebrows were characteristically knit together in deep thought. “Okay. We won’t know anything for sure until we meet with the others. We have no choice but to put it on hold, at least for now.”

A heavy silence fell upon the group.

Ryan’s stomach protested the silence and rumbled loudly.

“Whoops,” he said apologetically. Relief was apparent in Jeremy’s face at the comedic rescue from the conversation, and he laughed.

“You know what, Jack’s right. Fuck it for now. Let’s go get something to eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, comments and kudos are much appreciated! Thanks for reading.


	5. Bacon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly longer chapter this time, enjoy!

It was nearly three in the morning when the penthouse door clicked open. Jeremy blinked and shook off the drowsiness that had been threatening to overtake him. He heard frustrated mutters as the shadowy figures of Michael, Lindsay, and Gavin entered the room. Jeremy looked to his right. Ryan was next to him, arms folded and cool blue eyes alert and unwavering. It seemed the man hadn’t even drifted off since they’d left the safehouse.

Jeremy stood up carefully and walked briskly to the three, and Ryan followed behind him.

“Well? What happened?” Jeremy whispered urgently. Michael scowled and kicked off his shoes.

“He got away. Motherfucker must’ve left as soon as he missed his shot. He pussied out and we spent the whole night chasing him, but he lost us. Somehow Matt couldn’t track him on any of our cams,” Michael said. Gavin looked unusually weary, not even making a comment as he trudged to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

Doubt grew heavy in Jeremy’s chest as he processed the information. The suspect somehow knew all the places to be where they wouldn’t be spotted. They were familiar with the crew and the cameras. Jeremy involuntarily recalled Ryan’s idea from earlier in the evening and felt cold. Whether it was Ray or someone else, it really did seem likely that the sniper either was involved with the crew somehow, or got information from someone who was.

It didn’t feel fair. Just as Jeremy started to really feel like he was part of the family, a betrayal appeared to stare them right in the face. Even though he didn’t believe it, a small part of him selfishly wished that it would turn out to be Ray and not one of their own, but... That was incredibly inconsiderate. Jeremy knew Michael had known the guy for years before the two joined the crew, not to mention Ray used to be Ryan’s partner, and besides- Who else would be suspect besides the newer members? Jeremy knew that it would be right of the crew not to trust him.

“Any of you get hurt?” said Ryan quietly.

“No, we’re fine, never got close enough for a fight- oh shit, what about you, man? You’re good?” Michael said, trying to squint through the darkness at Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan waved a hand dismissively.

“I’m fine. Apparently the bullet didn’t cause any bone or nerve damage. Just lost some blood.”

“More like a lot of blood,” Jeremy muttered.

Lindsay let out a low, airy whistle. “So you’re the hero of the day. You fuckin’... Get down Mr. President-ed Geoff.” Michael chuckled. Jeremy heard a soft thud behind him, and he turned his head to see Gavin on the couch, thumb flicking over the screen of his phone.

“Speaking of Geoff-” Lindsay started.

“Asleep,” Jeremy said. “He and Jack went to bed around an hour ago, and I think that’s good. They seemed pretty stressed about- all this.” Jeremy held his tongue, deliberately not mentioning that they were stressed about who the sniper may be. The newly returned members of the crew looked downright exhausted, and he didn’t want to lay any more stress on them with the suggestion of a betrayal. Surprisingly, it was Ryan who decided to opt for rest, which seemed to be a welcome relief to the others.

“We should probably save the rest of this talk for tomorrow. You guys need rest. Come on, kids, bedtime,” Ryan said, herding the two towards Gavin.

“I told you he was the most dad-like here,” quipped Lindsay. Michael grumbled.

“Well, maybe! He’s usually too busy being creepy to notice. Get up, Gavvers, we’re going to bed.”

Gavin groaned and rolled over on the sofa limply, reaching up to Michael’s hand. “Help me up.”

Michael rolled his eyes and pulled Gavin up, and the three retreated to the bedrooms. Jeremy noticed the subtle discomfort in Ryan’s posture, and he realized the man was still in pain. Ryan turned around and Jeremy startled a little.

“You too, Jeremy,” he said.

“What about you?”

“Eh,” Ryan said noncommittally. “Not really getting sleepy. I passed out for a bit earlier, so…”

“Right,” said Jeremy. “So you still gotta get rest too.”

“I will. Eventually.”

“Nuh uh. You need rest, mister. I’m gonna stay here with you if you’re not going to your room, and I’ll wait until you fall asleep,” Jeremy said firmly. _He doesn’t trust you. Just leave him alone, he doesn’t trust you._ Jeremy clenched his teeth and pushed his doubts out of his mind. Jeremy knew he was good, so he was going to help Ryan, end of story. Ryan sighed and ran a hand through his hair before settling onto the couch.

“Okay,” said Ryan. Jeremy exhaled slowly in relief. He plopped himself down on a cushy chair nearby.

“Good. Now go the fuck to sleep, man.” Ryan laughed quietly, and it occurred to Jeremy how much he liked to make him laugh. It wasn’t as apparent unless it was just the two of them.

“Night,” said Ryan, and Jeremy stayed silent, closing his eyes so that Ryan wouldn’t feel like he was staring at him. Within a few minutes, Jeremy heard deep, steady breathing, and opened his eyes to see Ryan fast asleep. He considered going back to his room, but… It was fine here. He closed his eyes once more and drifted into nothingness.

-

The sound of clinking glasses, running water, and sizzling on the stove woke Jeremy. He groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to stretch out the aches in his body from sleeping in an uncomfortable position. He saw Geoff standing in the kitchen, chatting quietly with Jack. Michael and Gavin leaned on the counter, backs facing him as they flicked a bottle cap back and forth, deep in their own conversation. For a moment everything seemed so domestic and normal that Jeremy wanted to drift back to sleep.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” a voice said behind him, and he felt hands place themselves on his shoulders. Jeremy twisted around to see Lindsay with a small smile on her mouth. “We were betting on who’d wake up later, you or Rye.”

Gavin and Michael turned around. “Morning, Lil J,” Gavin waved.

“Mornin,” he said sleepily, pulling himself up from the seat and turning his attention to Ryan, who was still fast asleep on the sofa, a small string of drool slipping out of the corner of his mouth and dampening the pillow beneath him.

“You two stay out here to bang last night?” Michael said drily, taking a swig of Red Bull.

Jeremy felt heat creep up on his cheeks despite the obvious joke, but he laughed it off. “Oh, yeah. You know I’m into those fuckin’... bullet wounds.”

“Jeremy!” Jack said, breaking her conversation with Geoff. Ryan made a muffled sound in his sleep and turned his head. “Got a good sleep?”

“I guess,” Jeremy said. “You all seem in a good mood.”

“Geoffrey’s making bacon!” Gavin chirped. “And he’s actually doing regular bacon, too, instead of just your crispy American nonsense.”

Jeremy frowned. “I like crispy bacon.”

“Oh, quit your whining, you babies. I’m doing both,” Geoff called over his shoulder. “Ryan up yet?”

“Yeah,” Ryan’s voice said blearily, partially stifled by the couch. “Remind me to get shot less.”

“Oh, good,” Jack said, clapping her hands together. “Now that everyone’s awake, we can finally _talk_ about this shit.”

“We already talked,” Michael complained. “You goddamn idiots thought it was Ray, and it isn’t. That’s it, right? We’ll just fuckin’... interrogate the rest of the crew.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Jeremy said. “How’d you guys figure out it wasn’t Ray already?”

Michael snorted. “The guy we were chasing was too tall. The only thing that looked like Ray was the dark hair.”

Gavin tapped his fingers on the countertop. “Well yeah, but even without that info it’s simple, innit? Ray knows Geoff’s face, sure, but there’s no way he would’ve known we were at the carnival on that specific date and time. Someone else had to give that info to the sniper, whoever he was.”

“Not to mention Ray isn’t a piece of shit who would kill his old boss,” Michael said sharply, defensively. “You all were the first family he knew. I’d bet on my fuckin’ life that he didn’t do it.”

Jeremy frowned. “But… doesn’t it, like- isn’t it fucked up to know that one of us probably betrayed the crew? I mean- the new guys. Me, Matt, Trev, Andy, Steffie- don’t you guys not trust us?” From the corner of his eye, Jeremy caught Ryan sit up on the sofa with a troubled expression.

“Dude, I’m pretty sure if _you_ wanted me dead, it’d be a lot less convoluted than hiring a sniper,” Geoff commented. “Jeremy. You worry too much. You’re part of the crew, dude.” Jack nodded solemnly.

A blush found its way to Jeremy’s face, but he shoved aside the concern. “The others, though? They’re our friends! Isn’t it fucked up-”

“Yeah, it’s fucked,” Ryan said. “But it’s not the first time.” Gavin nodded in agreement.

“Few years back. You weren’t even here yet, J.” Gavin scowled. “Caleb, the bastard.”

Jeremy had heard of the guy, but not much. “He… sold you guys out, right? He sold info on the old penthouse’s location and the details of a drop?” Geoff nodded in confirmation. “So- what did you do to him?” he asked, dreading that he already knew the answer. The rest of the crew fell silent, awkwardly busying themselves.

“We killed him,” Ryan said finally, his voice monotone. “He spilled our secrets once, and we couldn’t risk him doing it again.”

The coldness in Ryan’s tone gave Jeremy a shiver. It wasn’t like he said anything outrageous; they were such an influential gang, and loose ends had to be tied up. That was just how crime worked, but… It seemed so alien coming from this crew, with their casual banter and jokes during missions and their familial relationship. Jeremy didn’t expect it. In spite of past experience which fostered a self-preserving paranoia, it seemed that Jeremy had gotten lulled into the sense of security the crew provided. Reality now smacked him in the face. He swallowed.

“So… we’re just going to find the traitor and fuckin’- execute them?” he said warily. Lindsay looked grim.

“We don’t have any other choice,” Michael said. “Whoever the traitor is knew this would be a possible consequence. And the thing is, Geoff and the rest of you guys are more important.”

“Sorry man,” Lindsay said softly, rubbing Jeremy’s back. “It sucks, I know.”

Jeremy shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. His fears went to Matt first, of course- he’d been working with the guy for ages, and he was the only thing he could call a friend for _years_. There was no way it was Matt, but the suspicion was on him. Matt was watching the cameras, and Matt claimed not to see anything. But even if it turned out to be someone else… Who deserved to die, even? B-Team or not, everyone was a part of the crew. They were friends.

“Um,” said Ryan, clearing his throat. “There is one thing. I don’t know if this is much of a comfort, but- whoever sold us out only did it for the carnival. It seems like they haven’t leaked anything about our safehouses or _here_. They could’ve been sparing with their information.”

“We don’t know that, man,” Michael said. “They probably just don’t want to get some of their own killed when trying to invade one of our places, or they don’t want to be squeezed dry forcibly by whoever they’re selling to.”

“Maybe,” Jeremy said slowly. “Or maybe they feel guilty. In which case we can find them sooner, and have time to talk to them instead of just killing them right away.”

Geoff breathed out through his nose. “Alright. Here’s the plan. We’ll call everyone together someplace for some bullshit reason and try to figure it out first. But… We have to lay low until then, _especially_ me. Fuck, I don’t wanna die, and we only have one Ryan to keep saving my ass. Plus he’s already kinda fucked up. Hope you boys get used to Kevlar again.”

Ryan stuck his tongue out, and Jeremy smiled uneasily. The man seemed to switch so quickly from that cold, determined voice that Jeremy for so long feared represented his personality, to the silly, dad-like friend of the group. Jeremy briefly wondered if one or both of those personalities were an act, and if so, which one. The past couple days _alone_ were great in terms of his friendship with Ryan. He hoped that was real.

The group murmured their assent to Geoff’s plan.

“Good,” said Geoff. He pointed at Ryan and Jeremy suddenly. “Now you two go take a shower; you smell like shit. No bacon until you're clean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll try to update every weekend now that I know better where the story's going. Thanks for reading!


	6. Super-Encrypted Emaily-doo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope longer chapters are okay, because this one is close to twice as long as the normal length. Which may or may not be because I'll be busy in the upcoming week and might not be able to update on time.

Jeremy would describe the next few days as uneventful, if he were being optimistic. More honestly, the days felt claustrophobic. Because Geoff didn’t want anyone going out in public so soon after they were tracked, Jeremy was trapped in the building while Geoff and Jack contacted the B-Team to schedule discreet meetings. Jeremy could only spar so many times with Michael in the storeroom before even that felt repetitive. The fact was that Jeremy wasn’t built to sit still. Even before he was on the field, he was always involved in some sort of action; he was responsible for the main crew’s lives, and he was their eyes and ears. When he joined the A-Team, it was even better; his life was in his own hands, and he learned that he really, _really_ loved the thrill of the fight and the ability to directly make a difference. Now he felt the weight of the unknown on his shoulders and an itch in his skin wanting something, _anything_ to happen.

“Hey! You in there, man?” Michael snapped his fingers in front of Jeremy’s eyes, who failed to register the other man talking to him.

“Huh? Sorry, wasn’t listening.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “I know. You’re a not-listening pro. I was asking if you wanted to go another round.” Michael cracked his knuckles and picked up his paintball gun, a near exact replica of an assault rifle.

“Oh, uh- actually, I’m good for now. I think I’m gonna take a break,” said Jeremy, trying a smile. Michael wasn’t buying it. He frowned and dropped the gun, taking a seat next to Jeremy on the rusted metal bench.

“You okay?” Michael asked. “Are you still worried about Matt and the others?”

Jeremy blinked. “Oh- oh, yeah. I am.”

“Well, now you sound like you weren’t even thinking about that. What’s up?”

Jeremy kicked away a broken paintball shell and watched it skitter across the concrete floor. “I just- you aren’t _wrong_ . I am worried about the others, but also... Fuck, this is probably a dumb thing to feel bad about, especially with everything that’s happened. But, uh- I feel kinda cooped up in here, you know? Like we’re all trapped, cowering, when we could be out there _fixing_ this and actually doing something to help.”

“Hm. Yeah, I get you. I feel the same way, actually.” Michael leaned onto his knees and cast his eyes around the storeroom. “Feels like I’m stuck in my own skin.”

“Exactly!” Jeremy exclaimed. “Like… I feel like there’s so much we should be doing. I know we have to be careful, lay low, whatever, but _all_ the people at risk are our friends, both guilty and innocent. I don’t want to find out one of them is marked for death while I’m sitting here doing nothing.”

A pregnant pause passed between the two of them, and Jeremy pinched at the fabric of his pants, wondering if he said something Michael disagreed with. Besides Matt, Michael was one of the earliest friends Jeremy made in the crew. Their humor was similar, they came from similar places, and hell, even their fighting style was similar. Michael’s initial response gave Jeremy the impression that they were on the same page, but maybe Michael didn’t like what Jeremy was saying. Or maybe Jeremy was just overthinking it. Jeremy glanced to his right to see Michael’s eyes closed.

“It’s a real pain in the ass,” Michael said simply, breaking the silence. He opened his eyes and his expression was stony. “It’s why I don’t get involved in all this fuckin’... what do you call it? Like politics, but within the gang? I don’t like dealing with complicated conversations and mind games and betrayals and whatever the fuck else. I want to be out there, not stuck in one place. I’m here so you can point me at shit and I’ll blow it up.” A scowl crossed over Michael’s face, casting shadows over his eyes and in the ridges of his scrunched brow. “I feel fucking useless right now. The most I’ll end up doing this situation is having to kill one of my friends when Jack or Gavin or Geoff says the word. Probably not even that- they’ll get you or Ryan to do it. Until then, yeah. We’re stuck here.”

Ryan. Jeremy remembered the lack of emotion in Ryan’s voice when talking about the death of a former teammate. He remembered the man’s unnerving silence for months on end before Jeremy joined the main crew, and before he knew Ryan by any other name besides the Vagabond.

“Ryan’s injured,” Jeremy said slowly. “They wouldn’t want to send him in compromised like that, at least not alone. And I think they know I don’t really want to kill one of my friends.”

Michael shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe he’ll have enough time to recover. Maybe they’ll send the both of you. Maybe they’ll have you snipe. You’re currently the best sniper here. All I know is we’re trapped in this damn building until the moment of truth. It’s shitty while we’re waiting and shitty when we’re done.”

The weight on Jeremy’s shoulders grew heavier. The fact that Michael was talking about the inevitable murder of one of their friends in such a matter-of-fact way felt sickening. It almost felt like he was talking about having to do some unpleasant task like writing a college paper or cleaning the toilet. Everything was pointing to one of their friends dying at their hands. _A friend that greenlit the murder of Geoff, who should’ve also been their friend,_ Jeremy reminded himself. He sighed.

“Why don’t you think they’ll send you? Out of the three of us, you seem to be in the best condition to do it,” Jeremy said, attempting to keep his voice level.

Michael winced and rubbed his arm. Jeremy tilted his head to observe the man’s expression. Was that embarrassment?

“Look. I’m not really good at clean jobs. Like, you and Ryan kill more people than you’re supposed to, and I make fun of it. Whatever. You still get your target. I know I’m the fighty-combat guy, but I’m just not suited for hits. My aim’s only mediocre, so I’m better at fights where incapacitating or blowing shit up is good enough.” Michael stopped abruptly, and Jeremy had the feeling the other man wasn’t telling the whole truth. Michael caught Jeremy’s look and hastily added, “I’m still _way_ fucking better than the other three, though! Especially Geoff.”

Deciding to not press Michael further, Jeremy laughed quietly, still finding it funny that the head honcho himself had the worst aim on the team.

“That’s not a high standard, dude. Speaking of Ryan, though…” Jeremy paused, trying to find the right words. “He’s… The spooky, ruthless Vagabond thing is pretty much an act, right? He seems like more of a softie when it comes to people he knows.”

Michael crushed a black paintball beneath his boot. “I dunno. Geoff liked putting him and Ray together because they always got the job done. Y’see, Ray was just doing what he was told or setting new personal records, but Ryan has this… weird motivation where he wants to do it for _himself_ , not just for the crew. I think I get it a little. It’s sort of satisfying, I guess. You know?”

Jeremy did know. The feeling was still fresh, in fact, from taking the guards’ lives on his and Ryan’s hit the other day. Did that make him a hypocrite? Those guards had lives, friends, family- and he was _happy_ to end them in an instant, to come out on top. The euphoria was enough to make him laugh at the time, and he remembered Ryan did as well. It was just so different when it was personal. He knew that was selfish, but he also knew he didn’t get this far by being a philanthropist. He exhaled.

“Yeah. Guess that makes us insane criminals then, right?” Jeremy said, half-jokingly. Michael snorted, and the two sat in contemplative silence that was only interrupted by the ding of elevator doors opening. Jeremy turned around to see Ryan pacing briskly towards them, his posture tense. A flash of worry struck Jeremy like a stray bullet. Why was Ryan up and about? Was he okay? Maybe he should’ve stayed with him upstairs- _Wait, no. Stop worrying about him; he’s a grown man, Jeremy._

“Don’t you two ever check your phones?” Ryan said exasperatedly.

“Oops,” Michael said, swiping on his screen. “Well, no shit we didn’t. It wasn’t any emergency notification.” Jeremy checked his phone as well, seeing several missed calls and texts saying to come back upstairs.

“Alright, whatever,” Ryan grumbled, prodding Michael and Jeremy on their backs to stand up. “Come on. We have to meet with the others.”

“What’s going on?” Jeremy asked. “We find a new lead?”

“A little more than a lead. We know who it is. It’s Trevor,” Ryan said in a clipped tone.

Thoughts spun rapidly in Jeremy’s mind, forming fragments of coherent conclusions at a time. _They caught him. Trevor? It’s not Matt. Thank god, it’s not Matt. Trevor likes money. But he wouldn’t sell us out. He has to be framed. How can they know for sure? Trevor can’t aim. He wasn’t the sniper. How did they know already? Isn’t it suspicious?_

“Fuck,” Michael spat. “How do we know?”

“He left a message for us,” Ryan said grimly, punching in numbers on the elevator’s keypad and sliding his keycard in the slot. The elevator began to rise agonizingly slowly. “It’s definitely from Trevor. Gavin checked all the traces and said there’s no doubt. Not only that, but we’ve lost all contact with him. He removed every single bit of information about himself from our systems. Seems like he destroyed his work phone, too. Tracker’s gone. He went off the grid.”

Panic rose in Jeremy’s chest. “And you guys didn’t emergency call us? Shit, we have to get out of here! He could’ve sold all our locations already!”

“Jeremy,” Michael said. “He could’ve done that already, before we knew it was him. That’s why we’re cooped up in here and not drawing attention to ourselves. That’s why we’ve got lookouts every night.” Oh. Right. Jeremy wanted to smack himself in the forehead for his panic-driven idiocy.

“According to the message, he hasn’t spilled locations, but of course we can’t trust that. Though if he really wanted to keep his own back safe from both us and whoever he’s been working with, he wouldn’t tell us he was our traitor. Besides, if we were attacked here, the enemies would need a substantial amount of time and planning to pull it off without serious consequences for them,” said Ryan, and Jeremy couldn’t help but watch the concentration etched in every line of his face, suggesting the man was in deep thought. He’d come to notice that Ryan tended to purse his lips and tilt his head back slightly when thinking, exposing the angle of his jawline and neck, and Jeremy had the sudden urge to run his hand along it. _What the fuck. Focus, Jeremy._

The elevator doors slid open. Ryan unlocked the door to the penthouse, and Jeremy stood on his toes to try and peer into the room from behind the man. Gavin, Geoff, Jack, and Lindsay were crowded around the counter, talking quietly amongst themselves.

“Got ‘em,” Ryan announced. Gavin whirled around, and his eyes lit up at the sight of Michael and Jeremy, though his expression was still one of concern.

“What’s going on, boi?” Michael said, striding to the computer the rest of the crew was crowded around. Jeremy followed quietly.

“I’m sure Rye’s told you the main idea already, but… See for yourself. It’s from Trevor, and it’s basically like- er- like a super-encrypted emaily-doo, but not actually an email,” Gavin babbled.

“ _Super-encrypted emaily-doo_ ,” Michael repeated incredulously, sparing himself a chuckle before reading the message with Jeremy.

 

_To the crew:_

_First off, I want to say I’m sorry. I needed to do it for personal reasons, but I can’t give you any more details than that. By the time you’re reading this, I’m long gone because I know you can’t let me leave scot-free, and I still want to live. I knew what you all were doing as soon as you started calling, and I don’t want to end up like Caleb. I’m giving you this information to try to make up at least a little for what I did, but I’m not coming back._

_The only information I gave was a description of Geoff’s appearance, as well as the plans for you guys visiting the carnival that day. It was a last minute decision. Admittedly, I got the time wrong. If you had left the park a little sooner, it would have been too late and nothing would have come of it. I gave the info to just one person, the sniper, who I trust will keep what I said confidential. They are with me. It was not for a price, it was not connected to other gangs, and I did not give anything up besides saying what Geoff looks like. I’d promise it on my life, but I kind of still want that. The most assurance I can give you that I’m telling the truth is that I realistically have no reason to be leaving this message. I could have left without any trace, and sooner. If I were lying, this letter would be a huge liability to whoever I supposedly gave information to, and would antagonize me towards them as well as you. The reason I left in the first place is because I want to live. This message would hurt my chances of that if I were working for others._

_Along with cutting all contact with the crew, I’ve erased any and all crew information on my person. I won’t interfere in the future, and neither will the sniper._

_I’m sorry it had to be like this after you all treated me so well._

_-TCo._

 

The letters of the last sentence grew unfocused, becoming nothing more than stains of black swimming in stark contrast to the white glow of the screen. Jeremy blinked and glanced at Michael, whose eyes skipped to the bottom of the screen before sharply turning up.

“So this is bullshit, right?” Michael said. Geoff rubbed his eyelids, and Jack cleared her throat.

“To be honest… We don’t really know. We’ve been on high alert for the past week, and there’s been no threat anywhere. It’s entirely possible Trevor was telling the truth,” Jack said. Her eyes hardened. “But I don’t forgive him for trying to fucking murder Geoff.”

“I don’t buy it,” Geoff sighed. “Maybe it’s partly true. He might’ve not told anyone yet, but _shit_. That doesn’t mean jack shit about whether he will in the future. If he was- if he gave so little of a shit about us as to tell his sniper buddy how to fucking _kill_ me, then-” Geoff’s voice cracked, and his knuckles turned white from gripping the barstool. “Then what’s stopping him.”

“It’s my fault,” Jeremy blurted out impulsively. “I was the one who recommended him to the crew. I shouldn’t have-”

“Shut up, Jeremy,” Lindsay said. “You can’t have known. The last thing we need to do right now is cause another goddamn fight in this family.” She folded her arms. Jeremy was struck by the firmness in her tone. It was rare Lindsay ever sounded this serious.

“So. Can we still find him?” said Ryan levelly. He pointed his gaze to Gavin, who ran his fingers through already-sticking-up strands of hair.

“Erm. I… I don’t know. He obviously knew to avoid cameras when leaving the city, everything we’d use to track his location is disconnected, and his apartment has been abandoned for several days now,” Gavin said, ticking off the points on his fingers. With a heavy exhale, Ryan leaned against the wall and closed his eyes once again, thinking.

“Well, we have to find him somehow!” Geoff said loudly. “Of course there’s gotta be a way! We can’t let him float around out there while a shitty promise is the only thing keeping us safe.”

Jeremy desperately wanted to believe Trevor’s letter. Everything in it made sense except for the motivation. If not for money or a change of loyalty, then why? What point was there in chucking away his boss’s life? Emotions churned violently in Jeremy’s gut: guilt from having vouched for Trevor joining the crew, anger over the betrayal, confusion from the contents of the letter, and a desperate hope that the man he thought was his friend was telling the truth. Jeremy screwed his eyes shut then blinked rapidly, staring out the window. He couldn’t think like this.

Lingering rays of golden orange sunshine filtered through partially closed blinds, casting long shadows behind the members of the crew. Night would fall soon.

“The sniper,” Ryan said suddenly.

“What? You’ll have to give us more than that, Ryan,” Jack said.

Ryan stepped forward from the wall and began to pace. “Trevor said he was with the sniper. I’m gonna hazard a guess that Trevor’s covered his own tracks well enough, but… If we could track the sniper, we’d track Trevor, assuming he wasn’t lying about that. At the very least, we’d tie up half of the loose ends.”

Michael spread his hands. “Okay, but how are we supposed to do that? Pretty sure the guy wouldn’t be tweeting ‘Darn! Just failed to kill the Fake AH Crew’s Kingpin! By the way here’s my exact location and identity.’”

“No…” Gavin muttered. “I think we could do that. Unaffiliated hitmen advertise themselves, and we got a look at the bloke, even if he was pretty far away. Back of his head and body type, at least. From that, I’d guess it was Trevor himself, except he can’t aim for dog.” He lifted his chin and scratched his beard. “Yeah, we could do that. Might take a bloody long time, but it’s possible. Deep web and the like. I’ll get the B-Team to check other trails.” There seemed to be an awful lot of gaps in Gavin’s explanation, and Jeremy’s head spun as he tried to piece together what the man had said.

Geoff frowned. “Okay, you basically just said to track the guy by just _tracking_ the guy. You clearly left a shitton of what just went on in your brain out of what you said, but I’ve known you long enough to know you got a working idea in there. You let us know the rest of it later, but get started right away. For now… We gotta clear our own trails.”

Jack nodded, rolling her shoulders back and adopting a cheery tone. “Alright, boys! And girl.” Lindsay gave a thumbs up. “We’re back to square one. Since it seems this’ll take a long time, we can’t continue to lay low here forever. We’d never get anything done. We’ll move all our supplies out of here tonight. Our garages are fine; Trevor never was involved with any of that. I’ll work out new living arrangements with Geoff as soon as possible. Now, for the time being... If any of you have, _ahem_ , ‘secret’ safehouses, we can stay there until we find something more permanent.” She looked pointedly at Gavin, who squirmed in his shoes.

“It was supposed to be a secret! My secret room! Like, maybe the only thing I would’ve used it as was a bang-shack, y’know-” Gavin yelped as Michael faked a lunge at him.

“Shut up! It’s just a shitty room!” Michael laughed, and Jeremy felt a distinct relief at the lightening of the mood.

“I have one too,” Jeremy mumbled. The group was busy laughing at Michael and Gavin’s antics, however, and Jeremy realized he went unnoticed. That is, before he caught Ryan’s sly gaze and a quizzically lifted eyebrow. _Damn it._

“Besides that,” Jack continued, calming down from her mirth. “We have to change our looks. Especially you, Jeremy, no offense.”

Jeremy gasped and reached both hands up to his hair, clutching at it desperately. “No! You know how long it took to find someone who was willing to dye it like this?” He ruffled his hair, looking sadly as an orange strand freed itself and drifted down in front of his face. “It is starting to go, though…”

“Makeovers!” Gavin squealed, and for a moment, everything seemed okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be fun! I promise!


	7. Makeovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit late, I was out of town! Gonna be honest, this chapter is entirely fluff.

Impulse control was not Jeremy’s strong suit. Perhaps the only area he had solid control in was knowing when to finally stop drinking or when to stop eating so much junk, just because he didn’t want to die from organ failure quite yet. Everything else, though? Stupid acrobatic stunts, life-threatening dares, eating and drinking questionable mixtures of god-knows-what? All fair game.

That’s why one look at an uncomfortable Ryan with yellowish, orangish, blackish hair, one stolen razor, and one quick Google search of how to properly shave a head later, Jeremy was bald.

-

The air was saturated with hairspray and a variety of nauseatingly fragrant chemicals that Ryan was sure were  _ not _ safe to breathe in for prolonged periods of time. Unluckily for him, that was exactly what he was doing. His ass itched, his neck was stiff, and he felt a headache coming on from breathing in the stew of hair products for the past hour or so. The most notable event of the hour had happened around fifteen minutes in, when Jeremy had unceremoniously flung the door open, took one look at Ryan’s state and the products gripped in Meg’s hand, uttered a loud “Nope!”, and walked out just as quickly. Ryan suspected the man slipped something in his pocket though, based on the slightly ajar drawer near the door.

At least Meg was good company. She was probably his best friend that wasn’t directly involved with the crew. However, no matter how much Ryan enjoyed spending time with her, it didn’t help the excruciating process she went through to remove years’ worth of black pigment from his hair.

“Can’t we just redye it a different color?” Ryan had asked before they started.

“Nuh uh,” she had replied, swiveling Ryan’s chair to face the mirror and staring at him in deep concentration, as if she were analyzing a classic painting in an art museum. “It’s black, dummy. We’d have to bleach it to redye it, and your hair is  _ not _ in the state to survive that healthily. Trust me. I’m an expert. You should consider yourself lucky that I know how to do this!” She had flipped her vibrant violet hair over her shoulder, flashing a cheeky grin before getting back to work.

“Right,” Ryan muttered, taking in his mirror image reflected in the bright light of Meg’s personal salon. His face already appeared remarkably different due to the lighter shade of hair framing it. His jaw looked stronger and his face appeared less narrow, and Ryan was inexplicably reminded of his younger days. He’d been dyeing his hair black for what… four years now? Five? It was fortunate Caleb never saw Ryan’s face those years ago. He was spared from  _ that _ identity makeover, at least. However, the other, earlier members of the crew had underwent their first major appearance change. Ryan smiled faintly when he remembered Geoff’s clean shaven face and the debut of his now-classic handlebar moustache. It’d be a shame that that’d have to go. 

“Alright Ryan, you’re done. I’m just going to wash and dry your hair now,” Meg said, pressing a stained towel against his head to keep him from dripping product all over the floor and himself. Ryan breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself to be led to the basin. Warm water rinsed through his hair and Ryan absently traced the lines on the ceiling with his eyes. Meg’s fingers deftly massaged shampoo and conditioner into his head, and Ryan sighed, wondering if this was what cats and dogs felt like when their heads were pet.

“So, Ryan,” Meg chatted. “Good to see you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet. Though from what I’ve heard, it’s been pretty close.”

Ryan’s hand drifted to his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m good, though. I’m an  _ expert _ ,” he snarked, imitating Meg’s previous comment. She snorted.

“Sure thing. A pro at flubbing words and inhaling Diet Cokes.” Meg flicked her wet fingers at Ryan’s face, and he scrunched up his nose.

“I could kill you,” he said.

“I’m sure you could,” Meg replied, borderline-patronizingly. She leaned forward over Ryan’s head and smirked before getting back to washing. “So. Anything new? Any new… relationship developments?” Ryan could practically hear Meg waggling her eyebrows.

Ryan groaned. “And we had a whole hour of regular conversation. I thought I was safe! Do we have to talk about this every time we hang out?”

“That’s not a no!” Meg exclaimed. “Usually it’s a ‘no, Meg, I’m a super serious cold-blooded mercenary with no time for relationships.’” She pushed her voice as low as she could in a poor imitation of Ryan. The water running through his hair came to a stop and was replaced with a fresh, fluffy towel rubbing his hair dry.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “I’m not with anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. Not exactly easy in my field.” He followed Meg back to his chair in front of the mirror and watched her plug in a sleek hair dryer.

“Well, is there anyone you’re  _ interested _ in?” Meg asked. Ryan’s mouth opened to say  _ no, of course not _ , but his thoughts wandered to broad shoulders, bright brown eyes, and adorable peals of laughter. His thoughts wandered to Jeremy delightedly declaring them the Battle Buddies. His thoughts wandered to the man’s overwhelming concern when Ryan had been shot, from the moment of impact to the night spent in the living room with him to make sure he got the rest he needed. Well, shit. Maybe there was someone he was interested in.

Meg clicked on the hairdryer, speaking loudly over the whir. “Okay, I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll get the rest of the details later, though! Just you wait.”

“Hey, uh- I’m returning this? Thanks,” a voice called from the doorway, and Ryan twisted in his chair to greet Jeremy.

Ryan’s eyes widened dramatically, and he stared at the obvious absence of faded orange and purple that had been on top of the other man’s head for over a year already. Within the split second he recognized the colors were gone, he realized  _ all the hair _ was gone. Meg clicked off the hair dryer, and she placed a hand on her hip.

“Jeremy! You ass, you didn’t have to steal those clippers. Just wait your turn next time.”

Jeremy folded his arms and shook his head firmly. “Oh, no. You refused to do the Rim-Job for me the first time, I don’t trust you!” Meg shook her head and muttered “please don’t call it that” under her breath. Jeremy continued. “You would’ve just convinced me to do something else, and then I’d be stuck here like Ryan.” 

“You shared- I mean, shaved share- fuck!” Ryan tried. “You shaved your head!”

Jeremy rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the other man. “No shit, buddy. I hated to let go of my homage to Rimmy Tim-  _ who totally isn’t me by the way don’t even mention that _ \- but there had to be an end to it someday. I was getting this really annoying balding spot in the middle of my hair. Like come on, it wasn’t even the hairline or whatever. It was right fucking there like, fuck you, Jeremy!” The words spilled from Jeremy’s mouth rapid-fire, and it occurred to Ryan that he was keeping up the stream of banter to cover up potential nervousness.

While admittedly startling at first look, the shaved head actually suited Jeremy pretty well. For a while now, the main interest when looking at Jeremy had been his hair. Whether it was cyan, bright green, red, or purple and orange, the first thing people’s eyes would be drawn to would be the hair. The lack of a vivid color emphasized Jeremy’s features rather than his hair (or lack thereof), from the bright sparkle of his eyes to the strong bridge of his nose, and Ryan was once again forcefully slammed in the face with the fact that Jeremy was really damn attractive.

“Anyway, it might look kinda ugly, but at least it’s different,” Jeremy said. “And it’ll be pretty easy to maintain.”

Ryan blinked three times and saw Meg quirk an eyebrow in his periphery.

“What?” Ryan said. “It looks good, man. Suits you.” Jeremy smiled and ran a hand over the top of his head, an action that Ryan would soon notice became habit.

“Yeah? You don’t have to make me feel better, you know. I’m a big boy. Anyway, I didn’t realize you were a blond.”

To his right, Ryan saw in the mirror that his hair looked noticeably lighter now that it wasn’t soaked. “Uh? Oh, I guess so. It’s not really  _ blond _ , per say.”

“Well, dirty blond, whatever. I always thought you just had brown hair or something. Never saw you grow out your beard too much, and that’s usually a bit of a different color anyway,” Jeremy replied, stepping further into the room. Meg brushed Ryan’s hair expertly, managing to comb through tangles with minimal pulling, and Ryan’s hair settled comfortably, nearly reaching his shoulders.

-

What caught Jeremy’s attention most was how noticeably  _ warmer _ Ryan looked with his natural hair color, and Jeremy couldn’t prevent his heart from trying to thud out of his chest. The color wasn’t quite blond or brown, but seemed to vary dramatically in tone depending on how the light struck it, from the color of golden sand to coffee ground. Somehow Jeremy hadn’t expected the effect; it was the same handsome face on the same handsome body, but shifted from “Hot Sociopathic Mass Murderer” to “Hot Dads Modeling Weekly,” or something. Fuck. No way Jeremy would catch feelings after a few days of closer work with Ryan, right? That was a totally coincidental jerk-off the other day, right? Right.

A low, nervous chuckle reminded Jeremy of his surroundings, and he watched Ryan tug at the neckline of his shirt.

“Come on, it’s not  _ that  _ hideous, is it?” Ryan joked. “Should I wear a paper bag over my head from now on?”

“No! It looks good- like, really good,” Jeremy blurted out, and Ryan’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I mean, uh- I liked your black hair and all, but I guess this is more you, if that makes sense.”

Ryan cracked a grin. “Well, yeah. It’s  _ literally _ more me. This is my natural hair color.” He rubbed at the short stubble along his jaw. “Think I’m gonna grow a bit of beard, too.”

“Oh boy,” Jeremy said. “Now both Geoff  _ and  _ Gavin are going to accuse you of copying them. Welcome to the beard squad, pal.” Ryan laughed softly. Once again, in spite of the serious circumstances that had been plaguing him for the past week, talking with Ryan felt like a sunny day and bubbles floating in his chest. 

“Speaking of,” Meg interrupted, finally having put away all her equipment. “Gav came in the other day. You should see him. He looks like he belongs on the cast of  _ Queer Eye _ . Honestly, though, it’s a good look for him.”

“Really now?” said Ryan, and he stood up, sharing a quick fist bump with Meg. “I guess we’ll have to go see them then, right?” He threw a glance in Jeremy’s direction, flashing a smile that made Jeremy feel entirely too many ways in an instant. “Wanna come, J?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

-

“BALD!” Gavin squealed, running forward to place both hands on Jeremy’s shoulders and eyeing him up and down. “Ooh, Lil’ J! You look like a soldier or sum’in, don’tcha?”

“Well, you look like a fuckin’ boyband member who got lost in the woods for a few weeks! Boybands gone Bear Grylls!” Jeremy exclaimed, tugging at the thick beard hair on Gavin’s chin and eyeing the ripped jean shorts high on hairy legs. “It’s only been a few days since I last saw you, man. How the fuck did it grow so fast?”

“I know, right! I’ve got too much damn hair! Bloody annoying is what it is! Look at this!” Without warning, Gavin pulled down the neckline of his T-shirt, exposing a carpet of chest hair. 

“Oh boo hoo, you can actually grow a beard,” Michael snarked, throwing an arm over Gavin’s shoulder and pulling him down to his height. He gave his partner a noogie and laughed. 

“Not my fault you’ve got baby-skin, Michael!” Gavin shouted, wiggling under the other man’s grasp. “My hair!”

Gavin’s newly bleached-blond undercut was in shambles once Michael was done with him, and Gavin huffed and ran his fingers through it, trying to fix its form.

“Hey, Jeremy?” Michael said, extracting himself from tormenting his boyfriend. “Nice haircut.” He reached up to give him a loud high five.

“You literally look like a ruffled bird, Gavin,” Ryan commented. “Though I guess that isn’t far off from what you are.”

Gavin was preoccupied in trying to get his hair to stick up in the right way, and Michael butted in, addressing Ryan in lieu of his partner. “So. Back to the basics, huh? Feels like ages since I’ve seen non-black-hair Ryan.”

“And it’s been ages since I’ve seen you wearing glasses consistently. A new pair and short hair? You’re pretty much Clark Kent-ing this, aren’t you?” said Ryan.

“Hell yeah I’m Superman! Crime and superheroes are basically the same thing, right?” 

“Sounds right to me,” Jeremy commented. He heard footsteps approaching from outside the apartment door.

“Sup, bitches,” Geoff announced, opening the door with a flourish. Jeremy turned his head to see what the Kingpin had done to his appearance, and…

“You look exactly the same!” Jeremy yelled. “What the fuck, Geoff? Of all of us, you’d think you should change your look the most!”

“I am!” Geoff’s voice cracked. “I’m growing a beard! Sorry I’m not Mr. Fur Carpet over there, and can’t grow a full beard in a fuckin’ day,” he said, gesturing at Gavin, who squawked out an “Oi!”

“Oh,” Jeremy said. “Yeah, I can see it now. Okay, cool.” Geoff grumbled.

“Where’s Jack?” Ryan asked.

“She’s with Lindsay and the B-Team right now,” Geoff replied.

“And…?” Jeremy prompted.

“Oh, uhh- okay, so Lindsay dyed her hair dark red, so she’s not blonde anymore, and Jack got a fuckin’, uh… What do you call it when you make your hair curly?” He snapped his fingers. “A perm! Oh, and she also dyed it red. Like, hair dye red instead of natural redhead… red. Looks nice.”

“Lindsay red, Jack not-actually-redhead-red, got it,” Michael said. “It’s like we’re all totally different people now!”

“Really?” asked Gavin.

“No, not really, dumbass. But I think it’s enough that we won’t be immediately recognized based on how we looked before,” Michael said. “More or less back to normal now.”

Yeah, Jeremy thought. More or less.


	8. Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ended up longer than i expected, enjoy

Ryan watched in satisfaction as the creamy surface of his drink darkened in color with each stir of his spoon, eventually settling to a warm brown that reflected the light of the full moon. He raised the mug to his lips and took a sip, hissing slightly. Still too hot. In the meantime, he might as well add onto it. What was hot chocolate without the extra sugary goodness? The fridge and pantry were well-stocked, which was probably the best feature of this particular safehouse, though that was quite literally all it had going for it. Lots of food, pretty much nothing else of value. 

Somehow, the whipped cream sitting pretty on the fridge shelf was  _ not  _ expired. Not only that, but it was opened already. Ryan smiled to himself, trying to guess which one of the crew was responsible for the fresh, sweet, recently pilfered goodies. Probably Matt. That man had an even bigger sweet tooth than Ryan, and that was saying something. With a quick shake of his wrist and a small squirt in the sink, Ryan speedily upended the can above his mouth and held the nozzle down until he could feel whipped cream up to his lips. Mmmm, delicious. Mouth still stuffed with cream, Ryan topped off his hot chocolate with a simple swirl and returned the can to the fridge. 

“Ryan?”

Ryan spluttered and turned around, hurriedly clapping his hands to his mouth to catch any escaped cream. “Je’my?” he managed. With a huge gulp, Ryan swallowed the remaining whipped cream in one go. Jeremy stood where the shadows of the hallway ended, chased away by the moonlight shining through the window. The corners of his mouth were pulled up slightly, and he raised his hand to give a small wave.

“That looks like a nice middle of the night snack,” said Jeremy casually, and Ryan smiled back at him, once again pleased at the amicable nature that made for a natural, enjoyable dynamic.

“Well, it  _ is  _ more than just the whipped cream,” Ryan said drily, lifting up his mug. The temperature wasn’t scalding anymore, so Ryan took a long drink of the cocoa and sighed in contentment. The used couch with its squashed pillows and butt indents was open, and Ryan gestured for Jeremy to join him. 

“Can’t sleep?” Jeremy asked. It might as well have been broad daylight by the way Jeremy looked, besides the adorable set of Spyro pajamas the man had custom ordered. His eyes were bright and alert, and the lack of hair meant that he didn’t have any bedhead to betray him. Ryan nodded.

“I’m pretty used to it. It’s, uh…” Ryan stared out the window and sipped at his beverage, licking off the whipped cream moustache that got caught in his facial hair. It wasn’t unusual that Ryan lost sleep. It seemed to be a constant cycle of thrill and guilt, this career. It was almost like how some others described playing horror games or watching scary movies. The adrenaline and thrill of it all in the moment made it enjoyable, and in some cases addictive. However, when thoughts were left to themselves, when alone, the paranoia and fear came back all at once, haunting minds and dreams. The Vagabond was a persona that Ryan made for himself, to be able to hide himself when it counted and to create a reputation that struck terror into others. Those who knew of the Vagabond speculated that he was unhinged, perhaps another personality plaguing the life of a normal man. Ryan wanted to scoff at the idea. The implication that someone with an alternate personality would become a highly dangerous gang member and mercenary was ridiculous, not to mention disrespectful.

However, that meant that Ryan had nothing to blame for his actions but himself. There was no external issue to point to as the reason for the thrill he got from taking others’ lives. It was breathing in power, taking out aggression with an excuse: it was his job. It was his horror game, his base jumping, his drug. And as a result, Ryan was racked with something similar to guilt, though Ryan was hesitant to classify it as that. After all, if it was true regret, why would he continue to perform the same action again and again, feeling the same enjoyment as if his dreams weren’t tormented with the faces of those lives he’d taken? So it was a cycle. The high of his job and the immorality of his actions turned on their head at night, replaced by the knife of remorse twisting in his gut.

“It’s what?” Jeremy asked, and Ryan startled. He opened his mouth to lie, but couldn’t find it in him. Of all people, he didn’t want to fuck up any trust Jeremy had placed in him. It felt nice, and he didn’t want to lose it for some stupid lies.

“I have nightmares,” Ryan responded, opting to tell the truth, if not all of it. Jeremy sat in contemplative silence, staring out the window at the sky. Pollution had managed to blot out the stars, but the shine of the moon was still bright through the haze.

“Huh. Me too,” Jeremy said faintly, almost as if he were talking to himself. Ryan looked at him over the rim of his mug and realized that he had drained it already. He pushed aside some magazines to make room and set it on the coffee table. Ryan didn’t press, respecting that Jeremy hadn’t probed as to what his own nightmares were about. It was odd, in this still moment of tranquility, how sober Jeremy appeared. Besides the obvious, literal lack of alcohol in his system, the normally energetic and go-getting aura that Jeremy maintained at almost all times seemed completely subdued. Brown eyes gazed thoughtfully outside the window; at what, Ryan couldn’t say. Jeremy spoke up suddenly.

“Hey. Do you think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” Jeremy asked.

Ryan thought for a moment before replying. “I mean, I can certainly try. But no, I don’t think I’ll have much success. Why?”

Jeremy’s eyes sparkled, causing Ryan’s heart to race a little faster in his chest. “Want to go for a ride to Chiliad?” he asked. “I know a nice spot that’s high enough to see the stars.”

The prospect of a late night ride with just the two of them was more than tempting, and he couldn’t believe his luck. Ryan couldn’t remember the last time he’d been asked to do something so casual yet so intimate, and his face warmed. Jeremy really was something else. Not only did he interact with Ryan without apprehension, but he genuinely seemed to want to spend time with him-  _ specifically _ him, and the feeling left Ryan feeling full enough to forget any bad dreams. 

“I’d love to,” Ryan grinned, and Jeremy stood up and offered a hand to pull Ryan to his feet. Just like that, Jeremy pulled on a pair of shoes and made his way outside, still decked out in his custom Spyro pajamas.

-

The ride to and up the mountain was oddly therapeutic. Ryan sat behind Jeremy on his motorcycle, wrapping long arms around the other man’s middle and soaking in his warmth. The cool night air and the feeling of Jeremy’s body close to his pulled Ryan’s memories back to the mission that birthed the Battle Buddies. It was strange to think that was several weeks ago already, nearly a month. The hit, the Trevor incident, the identity do-over and the time in between- It simultaneously felt so recent yet so far away, and even stranger was how much Ryan and Jeremy had come to enjoy each other’s company. The friendship was natural, and it made Ryan wonder how they had gone years as coworkers without unearthing that diamond. Actually, Ryan knew it was largely his fault. He wasn’t one to easily socialize and bond with others. Hell, it might’ve taken even longer for him to consider himself  _ friends _ with the rest of the crew.

Yet here he was, feeling comfortable with Jeremy in a way that would’ve been expected of a friendship closely nurtured for all those years, rather than a few weeks. A friendship so close that Ryan  _ maybe kind of sort of _ wanted it to become close enough to be something… romantic? Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he was short enough to press his face into Jeremy’s back. Sure, he found the man’s body attractive. He’d known that since Jeremy joined the crew, for fuck’s sake. The question of attraction on a deeper level once again revisited Ryan’s thoughts, having surfaced most significantly when Meg had asked him if he had anyone he was interested in. The answer seemed to constantly be drifting towards  _ yes,  _ despite Ryan’s reasoning that it was simply enjoying a true friendship. The reluctance to admit it to himself was probably due in part to Ryan’s own paranoia, and the fact that he did not think he would make a good romantic partner. Maybe he wanted to spare Jeremy from that, assuming he’d even agree to a relationship like that.

The motorcycle came to a slow stop on the side of a narrow road bordering a clearing that dropped off into a cliff. Gravel crunched under Ryan’s shoes, and he ruffled his hair, trying to salvage it from the mess the wind had made. In his periphery, he caught Jeremy staring at him, but as soon as Ryan turned to look, the other man had begun to make his way further into the clearing. Ryan followed, greedily gulping in breaths of clean, fresh air that wasn’t available down in the city. Close to the edge of the clearing, Jeremy sat down cross legged and looked over his shoulder at Ryan. The grass tickled at Ryan’s hands as he took a seat next to Jeremy. 

“Look,” said Jeremy, pointing up at the sky. Just as promised, pinpricks of light twinkled in the night sky like an entourage for the dazzling, round moon. Smog hung below them, a translucent blanket for the city lights. Ryan glanced to his left, and the stars reflected in Jeremy’s eyes, the brown looking nearly black in the night, making it seem as if the night sky was in his eyes. A minute, stinging sensation pulled Ryan from his admiration, and he slapped at his wrist.

“Goddamn mosquitoes ruining the moment,” he grumbled, earning a lovely chime of laughter from Jeremy.

“Shit. Maybe I should’ve brought bug spray. At least they’re going for you and not me,” he teased lightly. Ryan chuckled, and the two lapsed into comfortable silence, looking up at the expanse of the night sky.

“It’s good to get away from it all sometimes,” Jeremy said quietly after a few minutes. “Like,  _ really _ away from it. Not just playing video games or goofing around. Makes me feel more human, or some shit like that.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed, lost in his thoughts. More human. That’s what he was conflicted over, wasn’t it? Killing, money, guilt, remorse. None of it mattered when stargazing with a person close to him. If that wasn’t an incredibly human thing to do, then nothing was.

“Um.” Jeremy looked sideways at Ryan, biting his lip and drawing his eyebrows together. Ryan looked back, light unease settling in his stomach. Was he going to ask about the nightmares? After all this talk about getting away from it all, Ryan wasn’t in the mindset to drag all of it to the forefront of his mind.

“Can I tell you something?” Jeremy asked haltingly. Ryan tensed, keeping his eyes fixed on the sky above.

“Sure.”

“I, uh-” Jeremy’s voice trembled slightly. “I’ve never really… said this outright. But I- I want-”

Ryan’s gut did a kickflip. Jeremy was hardly ever this nervous. “What?”

Jeremy’s hands covered his own face, a habit that Ryan had noticed over the years whenever the man was overwhelmed with some emotion. He muttered something indiscernible. Ryan must have looked as confused as he felt, because Jeremy peeked through his fingers and dragged his hands down his face and over his head, then took a deep breath.

“I wanted to ask, uh- See, I know we’ve known each other for a long time in the crew and stuff, but a lot has happened this last month, and we’ve spent more time together and I really- I have a lot of fun with you, you know, and I was really worried when you got shot, and even when shit was going  _ nuts _ I felt like we kind of… Got closer, I guess? Maybe not, but- Like- I mean feel totally free to call me a fucking  _ idiot _ for saying this, but I sort of really fuckin’ like you and want to date you- maybe if that’s okay but it’s fine if not, Battle Buddies for life right?” 

The words crashed into Ryan full speed, and he felt like he was swept up in the luckiest, most unbelievable tornado of his life. Jeremy’s words had been jumbled and rapid-fire, but Ryan had a knack for deciphering other people crystal clear, even though Ryan himself was not particularly great at speaking very clearly. And if what Ryan had heard was correct, then-

In an instant, Ryan’s arms were around Jeremy in a bone-crushing hug, clearly catching the other man by surprise. It only took a second for Jeremy to respond, clutching back at Ryan so tightly he felt like his clothes would be ripped off. They stayed embraced like that for an amount of time that felt indefinite, communicating to each other without a single word. Finally, Ryan pulled back and nearly felt like bursting with joy when he saw the expression on Jeremy’s face. His eyes were positively glowing, crinkled with happiness and misty with tears. He managed to choke out a laugh before sliding in a joke.

“Still not one for words, huh, Mr. Vagabond?” Jeremy asked, and Ryan smiled.

“I’d probably fluck- fuck, flub- See! I’d fuck it up if I talked right away!” he exclaimed, breaking into a sunny smile. He knew that he wasn’t thinking of everything right now, and doubts and insecurities lurked in the back of his mind like shadows. Right now, though… Getting away from it all, focusing on the joy blossoming in his chest, and just  _ being _ with Jeremy was what he focused on, and the shadows retreated.

“What I was  _ trying _ to say is yes, I’d love to date you, Mr. Tim,” Ryan said coyly. Jeremy slammed his hands on the ground in jest.

“I am  _ not _ Rimmy Tim! Fuck you, Ryan!” 

Ryan laughed, allowing himself to feel lighter than he had in ages. “Okay. But really- I, uh. I thought this’d never happen, or if it did, I’d be the one being rejected.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “What, you expect me to turn down the front cover star of  _ Hot Dads Weekly _ ?”

“What?” Ryan asked dumbly.

“What?” Jeremy responded, just as dumbly. Ryan let it go.

“Okay, but… God, please tell me I’m not dreaming. Usually my dreams are a lot shittier than this,” Ryan said.

Jeremy experimentally pinched his leg, then looked up at Ryan with a wide smile. “Nope. Seems real to me.”

Ryan took a deep breath, gathering his nerves. “Good, because I want this to be real.” Leaning forward, Ryan cupped Jeremy’s cheek in his hand and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. Jeremy kissed back immediately, sweetly, his facial hair rubbing against Ryan’s. Begrudgingly, Ryan pulled back before the kiss got deeper. Not yet. This kiss was a promise of more to come, the promise shining in Jeremy’s eyes and in the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave comments if you enjoyed, and kudos if you haven't yet! i live for comments, and i'm especially eager to hear any reactions to this chapter. thank you! <3


	9. New Details

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update, i was pretty busy. hope you enjoy!

The others must have noticed the pep in Jeremy’s step at  _ some _ point during the following week, based on the fact that he was assaulted in his own new apartment by his fellow lads, both of whom wore devilish grins on their faces. 

“So, Lil J! How long have you and Ryan been shagging, mm?” Gavin said shamelessly, letting himself through Jeremy’s door the moment he opened it and plopping himself firmly on a loveseat. “Have you been at it for a while now? Is this just a  _ particularly  _ good week?”

Jeremy’s hands obscured his vision, and he let out a long-suffering groan. The feeling of a heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders prompted him to peek out at Michael wearing an attempt at a sympathetic expression, but whose mouth curled into a smile and cheeky dimples gave him away.

“Aw, come on Gavvy, don’t be mean. They might prefer the term ‘make love,’ not  _ shag _ ,” Michael said.

“I hate both of you,” Jeremy muttered under his breath, not releasing his face from his hands. Michael steered him to an open chair and moved to sit down next to Gavin on the loveseat. 

“Tell us about it, Jeremy,” Gavin cooed.

“What is this, a fucking couples therapy session?” Jeremy griped, dragging the skin under his eyes down and letting his hands fall limply on his lap. “This is our day off, and you two decide to spend it asking about my love life?!”

“Hmmmmm, yup!” Michael said, leaning back into the cushion and throwing a leg over Gavin’s lap. “We did tell you we were coming.”

With a few taps of his fingers, Jeremy pulled up his text conversation with Michael and pointedly shoved it in his face. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but ‘we know about you and Ryan,  _ winky face _ ’ isn’t the goddamn equivalent of ‘we’re going to storm into Jeremy’s apartment in 10 minutes!’”

A giggle rose up in Michael’s chest, coming out in short, amused breaths. “Was that what you wrote, Gav? I told you to warn him when I was driving!”

“I did warn him!” Gavin protested. “That’s the truth, innit? We know about him and Ry!”

As Jeremy’s hand reached out to grab the half-full bottle of Maker’s Mark sitting on the coffee table, it disappeared quick as lightning into Michael’s grasp. “Nuh uh, mister,” the lad said, wagging a finger at Jeremy. “No alcohol therapy for you. I’m holding this hostage until you give us the deets.”

“The deets,” Jeremy repeated warily. “Are we in high school or some shit?”

Gavin pouted. “Why are you being so mingy, Jeremy? We’re happy for you! Now we know all of the main crew are snogging!”

Despite himself, heat rose to Jeremy’s face. He had to admit, being able to kiss Ryan as many times as he wanted,  _ whenever _ he wanted, was a real pleasure. Stealing away immediately after successful heists to share an embrace and kiss as their bodies were still laced with adrenaline was probably among the greatest things Jeremy had experienced. That, and the joy he felt when Ryan announced that he had bought him a brand new box of extra long Slim Jims.

Over the past week, Jeremy had also come to learn Ryan was a  _ damn _ good kisser. He knew just the right angles to attack from, knew just how to cup Jeremy’s face to pull him close despite the height difference. And oh, the fucking height difference. Jeremy was well accustomed to being more than half a foot shorter than the majority of the crew, but it was more than apparent when he was essentially face to chest with Ryan, looking up at those ridiculously blue eyes. Jeremy had to stand on his tippy toes to reach Ryan even as he leaned down. At first it was embarrassing, but Jeremy quickly realized that the way Ryan gently dipped his neck and put his fingers under Jeremy’s chin to guide the shorter man’s head up was absolutely, unfairly charming.

“Dooley!” Michael laughed, snapping his fingers in front of Jeremy’s face. “Damn! All it took for you to start fantasizing was Gav to mention ‘snogging’?” Michael pitched his voice high into an exaggerated, mock British accent. 

“I’m not fucking- I’m not fantasizing!” Jeremy spluttered. “Why’s it such a big deal anyway? I hear you and Gavin banging every other day, and Geoff and Jack are always making goo goo eyes at each other!”

“That’s  _ precisely _ why it’s such a big deal,” Gavin beamed. “Our littlest J has revived the shrivelled up, cold heart of the Vagabond,” he sighed dreamily.

“Ryan’s not the fucking Grinch, dumbass,” Michael snorted. “But really, were you expecting us to ignore it? You and Ryan have been disappearing together five times a day for the past week, for god’s sake!”

Fuck, was it really that obvious? Spending that much time with Ryan felt natural at this point; it wasn’t like they’d only started hanging out now that they were officially dating. Then again, maybe, just  _ maybe _ it was getting a little conspicuous. The brushes of their fingertips when they passed ammo to each other, the not-so-discreet innuendos Ryan threw over comms… 

Throwing his hands up and clasping them behind his head, Jeremy sighed. “Okay. Fine, we’re dating, you win. Happy?”

“Oh yes,  _ very happy _ ,” Gavin said in a low, nasally voice, prompting Jeremy to roll his eyes.

“You’re a little freak, Gav,” Jeremy responded. “Anyway, it’s only been going on for a week or so. And for your information- we’re not banging, since you seem so obsessed with my sex life. Animals, the both of you.”

“Yet,” Gavin murmured, earning a glare from Jeremy.

“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” Michael said, wrapping an arm around Gavin’s waist. “Really, though! We’re happy for you. At some point I would’ve been sick from all the heart eyes Ryan had been making at you.”

Jeremy blinked. Ryan was what now? “What?”

With a roll of his eyes, Michael began to pantomime what Jeremy  _ assumed  _ was supposed to be Ryan. He batted his eyelashes and put his cheek in his hand, sighing adoringly. “Oh, Jeremy,” Michael mocked, pitching his voice as low as he could. “That was a very excellent kill, you know? I couldn’t have done it better myself.” Gavin chuckled at Michael’s joke, then jumped slightly at the sudden buzz of a phone. He began to dig around in his pockets to retrieve it.

“Honestly not surprised you didn’t notice,” Michael continued. “No offense- actually, full offense- you don’t notice shit about  _ anything _ . A fuckin’ plane could explode over you and you’d keep walkin’ and whistling.”

Jeremy made a face at Michael, preparing a playful insult, but his attention was caught by Gavin’s expression. The man’s eyes darted back and forth across the screen of his phone and his smile melted from his face, replaced with lips pursed with concentration. Michael picked up on the change in mood immediately, and he untangled himself from his partner, sitting up straighter. “What’s wrong, Gavvy?” he asked.

“Erm,” Gavin started, hopping onto his feet without warning. His fingers moved rapidly over his screen, tapping out a reply Jeremy couldn’t decipher. “Um. I think our, erm- my day, at least- day off is over, lads.”

“What?” Jeremy asked, ice filling his stomach and irrational thoughts pouring into his brain. Did someone get hurt or killed? Missing? No, Gavin would have reacted much more strongly if that was the case. Breathe, Dooley. Let him explain.

“Geoff says the B-team found us a name,” Gavin continued, failing to provide context as he got caught up in the maelstrom of thoughts in his head.

“A name? Like- the sniper?” Jeremy guessed, looking at Michael for confirmation. Having read over Gavin’s shoulder, Michael nodded grimly.

“Yeah,” Gavin said, not even waiting for the others to get ready before he was already nudging open the door with his shoulder. “I set the B-team on the leads I’d gathered. Bloody load of work that was, wunnit? Well, turns out they’ve figured out an identity. That means-”

“It means we can probably find a location,” Michael completed. “So we’re going to take care of them very soon.” Jeremy gulped. He’d managed to put Trevor’s betrayal in the back of his mind for a while now. It was just starting to become easier to, especially with his developments with Ryan and the distractions of work continuing as usual. Now, the dread of what the crew had to do settled fully back on him.

“What is it?” Jeremy managed, his voice coming out smaller than he intended. “The sniper’s name.”

The apartment door clicked shut behind the three, and Michael gripped his keys in his right hand.

“Alfredo Diaz,” Gavin said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're more than halfway through! hurray!


	10. Stress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very sorry about the unannounced hiatus! hopefully we'll be back on track now!

Nerves thrummed in Ryan’s head and body like the endless pattering of rain on a tin roof. Ryan silently cursed the fact that he had a penchant for stress-induced headaches and sat in resignation, enduring the ceaseless ache behind his eyes. His hand clenched and unclenched at the fabric of his jeans. Every few minutes his eyes would flick to the door, waiting for the arrival of the lads. It was equally freeing as it was dreadful that the worry weighing heavily in his mind wasn’t for himself, but for someone he cared about. 

The high spirited energy Jeremy had carried with him over the past week had been absolutely infectious, adding on top of the existing euphoria of the newly confessed romance. Ryan wished he could have stayed in that wonderful bubble indefinitely, but that simply wasn’t how it worked. It was never how it worked. Aligning with many, many proverbs, the positive buildup inevitably led to a fall of the same magnitude. A voice like venom needled the back of Ryan’s mind, berating him for allowing himself into the relationship in the first place. It was a curse, the way his heart soared like a kite desperately trying to reach the stars for Jeremy. What was the point when there was the ever-present chance that one of them could get hurt? That one of them could die? Besides that, Ryan knew the honeymoon veneer of new relationships didn’t last. Eventually Jeremy would learn to detest Ryan for his  _ excess _ transgressions, and who would Ryan be to blame him for that? Who would he be to tell Jeremy that it was a-okay to be willing to kill a former comrade- a friend? Perhaps all it took was one bad thing happening, something like today, tearing Ryan away from an ideal spoken in an open night sky, freed from a cage that should have stayed shut.

Selfishly though, Ryan couldn’t help but care.

All Ryan could do now was recall Jeremy’s initial reaction at Trevor’s betrayal. Jeremy hadn’t lived through this before, not like the others. Surely he understood the necessity of tying up loose ends, but… Jeremy and Matt had been the ones to recommend Trevor to the crew in the first place. They were friends, and friends were few and far between in their line of work. Ryan shuddered to think of Jeremy’s reaction to Geoff’s plan.

Normally, the matter of cleanup wouldn’t have been an issue. Jeremy wouldn’t have to be involved whatsoever; Ryan could do the hit himself and live with the nightmares like he always had. If only it weren’t for the risk of being outnumbered and Geoff’s  _ fucking _ insistence that they do it together… 

“He’s our fucking sniper, Ryan,” Geoff had snapped only a few minutes ago in response to Ryan’s protest at including Jeremy in the mission. “You know damn well that the rest of us aren’t skilled enough to do this right. And as fucking good as you are at killing people,  _ Vagabond _ , we can’t risk losing you out there alone.”

“But what about Michael?” Ryan had burst out, only to be silenced by a sharp glare.

“Michael’s not on hit duty anymore. You know that. I’m not gonna let him go out there and almost  _ kill himself  _ again.”

Ryan did know. In fact, the situation was uncannily familiar, the feeling of deja vu twisting in his gut. It was back when Ryan was still one of the newest members of the crew, back when the Vagabond wasn’t trusted enough to be reliable, given the nasty reputation of bloodshed he had gained as an independent mercenary prior to joining the crew. Ray would have been the best choice to take out Caleb, but he had been bedridden- stabbed quite literally in the back by the crew’s first traitor. 

Everything pointed to Michael being the most suitable candidate for the hit. The body count over the course of his career was only rivaled by Ryan’s,  _ and _ he had a trait that was extremely valuable: he was fully trusted by the crew and most importantly, by Geoff.

The hit, while technically successful, hadn’t gone well.

Smoke and fire had choked out the air in the building, leaving Michael and his adversary trapped together exactly where the crew wanted Caleb to be. The problem lay in the fact that Michael was supposed to be far, far away by then. Looking from an observer’s perspective, or even looking in hindsight, there were countless other courses of action to take that would have been better than what happened. Michael had described the feeling as smoke suffocating out his thoughts and a terrible red filling his vision. He had said that he didn’t want to risk evacuating in the case that Caleb would have gotten away too. Michael had been disarmed of all but a discrete control the size of a TV remote in his pocket. With a shotgun trained on Michael’s chest, the only options seemed to be to run, or to detonate and take the traitor out with him for good.

It was a miracle that Michael was found and rescued from the rubble, and it was even more of a miracle that he survived. Geoff, Gavin, and Lindsay had been hit the hardest emotionally, spending sleepless nights on end at Michael’s bedside, praying to whatever gods were out there that he would wake up. Nearly five years later, the pink and white scar tissue still sprawled over Michael’s back, a permanent reminder of the explosion that had nearly taken his life.

So Ryan had held his tongue and waited, drawing into himself quietly by habit as Geoff, Jack, Lindsay, and Matt discussed courses of action over the table. A silent mantra repeated itself in Ryan’s head.  _ Don’t lose him. Don’t.  _ As much as Michael brushed over his near-death experience, it had still left a major impact on the rest of the crew. Ryan didn’t think he could live with himself if Jeremy befell a similar fate with a little less luck.

The door swung open while Ryan was still lost in thought, and he wordlessly watched Gavin take long strides into the room, followed by Michael and Jeremy. Ryan momentarily met eyes with his Battle Buddy, reading stress and anxiety mirroring his own. Before he could say anything, Geoff began to speak.

“Oh, good. You got here pretty fast. So, uh- I filled Gavin in on this on the text already, and the rest of us have been talking. We have our sniper, and that means we probably have Trevor, too. They’re north, past Funhaus territory. We’ll talk- we’ll debrief the details later. Jeremy,” Geoff said sharply, and Ryan grimaced in sympathy.

“Yeah?” Jeremy said warily, settling onto a barstool and leaning back against the counter. Michael leaned over and whispered something unintelligible to Jeremy. Ryan watched shadows crease between the young man’s brows as he scowled. “Don’t tell me I’m your hitman,” Jeremy said quietly. “I won’t do it.” 

Geoff’s expression turned sour, and he ran his hand through his hair, gripping the strands with tight knuckles. “Look. I’m not fucking thrilled either, but it’s gotta be done. You and Ryan are our best bet at this. End of story.”

The look in Jeremy’s eyes nearly made Ryan wince as he turned toward him. There was pain and uncertainty, along with something close to anger. “Did you already agree to this? Ryan. Come on. You know I won’t do it. Ryan.”

The way Jeremy repeated his name was like salt in the wound, and Ryan dug his nails into the palms of clenched hands. “Jeremy… We have to. I know it’s difficult, but-”

“Like hell we have to!” Jeremy burst out, throwing his hands in the air. “Can’t we hire an actual, third-party hitman? Why does it have to be us? Why does it have to be me?”

Geoff opened his mouth to retort, but stopped as Jack placed a hand on his knee. “Hiring a hitman isn’t sure enough,” she explained, her tone somber. “If they fail, and if Trevor catches wind that they’re being hunted down, then it’s over. It was already difficult to find him as is. He could disappear without any traces this time. We can only trust one of our own with matters like this.”

Jeremy’s knuckles were white on the marble countertop. “So that way, if we fail we’re risking the lives of our own instead of some hitman? Is that it?”

Beside Jeremy, Michael flinched, folding his arms and finding sudden interest in his shoes. The room was silent, tension almost tactile in the air. 

“I just don’t get why you’re choosing me,” Jeremy said softly. “Ryan, I get. Hell, I even get why he needs backup, and I’d gladly do that for him any time. But don’t tell me you want  _ me _ looking down the scope of the rifle. Can’t… can’t any of you guys do it?”

Gavin stepped off of the wall, shaking his head. Without his usual impish expression, Gavin somehow looked older, more tired, more real. “We can’t. The rest of us- well, we’re even more likely to fail. And, er-” he said, eyes flicking to a sullen Michael. “I’ll talk to you about why Michael can’t do it later. Please, J- just this once.”

“Can’t-” Ryan said raspily, then cleared his throat. “Can’t we arrange it so Jeremy doesn’t have to do the actual killing? I… I can handle it. He’ll be with me to back me up, but I’ll take care of Trevor and his sniper friend.”

Jack frowned. “That’ll be unnecessarily difficult. If you’re the one to snipe, that doesn’t make sense. No offense Ryan, but Jeremy’s a better shot than you. It’d be way less risky than you sniping or finishing the job a different way.”

“It’s better than forcing him to be the murderer, isn’t it?” Ryan asked, his voice raising slightly. “What if we get there and he can’t pull the trigger? Then what? We’re stuck there. That’s worse, right?”

The group murmured amongst themselves, and Jeremy shot Ryan a look that wasn’t quite complete gratitude or relief, but something less pained than earlier.

“Okay,” Geoff said finally, exhaustion evident in his voice. “Fuck, this shit is too much. I thought we were done with this type of thing years ago. I hate to admit it, but Ryan’s right. We’ll adjust our plan, then it’s go time. Get ready in the meantime. Dismissed or whatever. Go, shoo.”

Ryan’s headache dug its heels into his temples.


End file.
